


In the kitchen

by 1toomany



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Childhood Memories, Cooking, I think that's it for now, Ian and Mickey as best friends, Like real slow, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Other, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, but slowly becoming more, homophobic slurs(but only one word)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:05:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1913844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1toomany/pseuds/1toomany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey Milkovich is one of the best and the youngest chefs in New York city. He is known for yelling at his staff and calling them names, and everyone who ever had the chance  to work with him didn't last long enough to tell about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet the Chef

**Author's Note:**

> Eventhough it's about Mickey as a chef, ther isn't gonna be a lot of cooking itself involved. It's more like Mickey and Ian (the help) building a firm frendship before they get into something bigger. So it's basicaly a really slow burn and anyone who's not patient enough can be a little bored by it. I just wanted for them to get to know eachother first. But the atraction is there from the begginning, no doubt about it.

 

If you ever find yourself in Manhattan , hungry for the best Italian food , "Alfredo's" is the place to go to. It is one of the best italian restaurants in the area. If you want to enjoy the ambiance of romance, Alfredo's will create the perfect environment for you after a long hard day at work. The staff will make you forget the worries of the world and make you fell like you're in a family reunion with long lost cousins and you will never want to leave. Whether you're in the mood for just some good old comfort food or just having a simple spaghetti with meatballs or pizza cravings, Alfredo's provides it all. All the dishes are prepared to perfection, and it's all thanks to just one man.

Mickey Milkovich is one of the best and the youngest chefs in New York city. He started out very early, working in small restaurant's kitchens doing whatever they told him to , but quickly climbed up the latter and at the age of 23 he became a chef in a famous family owned italian restaurant.

His clientele belauded him, critics had nothing but the words of praise for his dishes, but his co-workers had a slightly different opinion on the New York's finest. Yes he was doing an  amazing work, his dishes were extraordinary , but his fierce temper and harshe tounge exceeded it all. While some love his fashion for food, others call him an arogant asshole and an excuse for a human being. He is known for yelling at his staff and calling them names, and everyone who ever had the chance  to work with him didn't last long enough to tell about it.

But to Mickey Milkovich it isn't about showing his authority or making himself look like a badass. No, it is just about making things right and as perfect as they can be. Funny thing is, never in his wildest dreams did Mickey think he would become a cook. On the other hand Mickey never thought he would become _anybody_   for that matter. But life does offer you a way out when you least expect it and when you think there's nothing in this world for you anymore.

 

*****

 

_There were these moments  when Mickey was just a kid, he remembers them because they were probably the happiest moments in his life. Or at least the moments when he felt like he was a part of a „normal family“._

_His mother was a beautiful woman, she had long dark hair, a bit curly at the end, always bounded in a ponytail. Her skin was pale, sometimes Mickey would think she was sick, because on TV sick people were always pale and had red circles around their eyes. He was too young to know the diference between being sick and being beaten and druged. The most beautiful thing on her were her eyes. Mickey remembers overhearing the conversation between his parents one night, they were sitting on a living room couch, his father's arm was wrapped around his mother's shoulders, gently playing with her ponytail and he looked at her eyes and sais: „I love your eyes, they're like the ocean and the sky.“ Mickey would smile as her mom would kiss his dad's cheeks and her hand would travel along his broad shoulders and chest._

_But the next morning those eyes would be red and he'd hear her cry and cry and he wouldn't understand how someone could go from being so happy to being so sad. So he would quietly enter her bedroom and wrapped his tiny little body around her, and she would squeeze his hand untill her tears would stop falling and she'd turn to face him. He would ask her in his silent voice „Mommy, did daddy make you sad again?“ She would smile at him but he could feel it wasn't her smile, the one she would usually give him,. „No baby, mommy's just a bit sad, that's all.“_

_„Did I make you sad, mommy?“ he would ask again. She would press her lips on his forehead and stroke his hair and say „No Michael, you could never make mommy sad. Now, how about you and me go and make your favourite banana pancakes, huh? What do you say, would you like that baby?“_

_10 minutes later they are in the kitchen, Mickey's sitting on the counter, stirring the batter and his mom is singing and dancing, there's no music playing but she's just swinging in her own rhythm. Mickey is laughing, holding that bowl in his lap, watching his mom sway with her eyes closed and her hand waving above her head and he's happy. They make 11 pancakes, Mickey even makes three on his own. And his mom is hugging him and kissing his cheeks „Good boy Michael, look at you, you made it all by  yourself. You're gonna be mommy's little cook some day, won't you? You'll make mommy so proud, everyone will eat your pancakes and it will be the best meal they ever had. Right baby?“ Mickey nods and she puts her arms under his armpits to put him down from the counter, and he wrapes his hands around her neck and whispers „I love you mommy.“_

_This is the happiest he felt in his short life._

_Four years go by, he's eight now. He wakes up early for school one morning, the living room stinks of beer and smoke and his dad is sprawled on a couch on his stomach like every other morning.. He goes to the bathroom and his heart stops when he openes the door. There on the floor with her head leaned against the tub lays his mom, a needle still sticking from her vein, she's mumbling something Mickey can't understand. He rushes to get his little sister but by the time they get back it's too late. The blue eyes are shut and her chest is still, small bubbles of foam driping from her mouth._

_And just like that there are no more smiles, no more I love you's, no more cooking together. He can't stand banana pancakes , he doesn't want to look at himself in the mirror because he can't handle the sight of his mom's blue eyes that have now somehow found their way into his own reflection. He's sick of looking at his father, he may  just be a kid but he knows his father's the one that made his mom the way she was. With red circles around her eyes, curled up on that bed, the same bed his dad's now bringing some other women into._

_And Mickey's life becomes blood and cuts, bruises, guns, drugs. No one strokes his hair anymore, no one kisses his forehead anymore. He doesn't hear the words  I'm proud of you  anymore…. And he tries to adjust, to make living somewhat easier. So he goes on drug runs with his dad and brothers, he beats up everyone who looks at his baby sister the wrong way. He's bad now, a bully and a thief. And when his dad pat's his back and says he carries the name Milkovich well, Mickey is disgusted with himself. But he smiles anyway, he knows that this is his future, he knows there's no way out ._

_He's twelve now and  he feels like there's something not right with him. Because he notices boys with their strong hands and  firm bodies and he knows the universe fucked him up the worst way possible. So he stays quiet and pretends. Pretends that his father isn't a homophobic alcoholic excuse of a man , and that his mother is waiting for him to come back from school with his lunch ready. Pretends that he isn't thinking about boys in the shower late at night. He lies in bed and closes his eyes tight, wishing for tomorrow to be better. But it isn't and he knows he's stuck in this hell hole for the rest of his miserable life._

_But when he's sixteen his sister brings home some  brochure from community college the wind probably blew into their front lawn, and he sees that they have cooking classes, he thinks of it that as a way out._

_It's not easy but he tries. He learns how to chop onions and peel potatoes and fillet a fish, he makes his first chocolate cake and his first banana bread. He still goes on drug runs, has to, doesn't want his father to know that his faggot son is taking cooking classes. Doesn't want his brothers to know. But when noone's home except for him and his sister he cooks. He makes scrambled eggs and it's just eggs but Mandy says it tastes fucking good. And he says it's because he used butter and added milk, and she hugs him „See? There is  something you're good at.“ –she says. He smiles and hugs her back, and he wishes they do this more often. But he's a MIlkovich and Milkoviches don't do emotions. Emotions died that early morning in the bathroom together with their mom._

_One day he's making mac n chees and while he's waitning for the water to boil he hums. He actually hums. He stops and thinks-this is probably the happiest he felt in a long time, because this is the first time since his mom died that he feels free. And he doesn't hate banana pancakes anymore, and his reflection in the mirror is not dark anymore. His mom's eyes are smiling at him._

_He decides then that what he wants to do in life is cook. So he finishes his 400 hours and gets his degree, packs his bag (it's only couple of shirts and a pair of jeans) and gets on a first bus out of town. „I'll come back for you one day“ he says to his sister and she nodds and smiles, but he knows she's crying. She developed that ability well, growing up with their dad was tough and tears were not alowed._

_He finds himself in New York, rents a shitty studio apartment in the worst (but cheapest) neighborhood possible and three weeks later gets a job. It's nothing more than a help in the kitchen, and it's hard, but the boss sees that he's diligent and agile and in two months time Mickey becomes an assistant chef. The restaurant is small, it's usually construction workers there but he enjoys making lunches for them._

_Two years later he is the chef in the famous restaurant, the kind that you have to make a reservation for two months in advance. It's working out for him pretty good, guests are satisfied, the manager's an asshole but they get along somehow. The money is better than ok, but most importantly, he feels happy._

*****

It's yet another busy night, the sky is clear and the terace is full again. Maurizio (whose actual name is Maurice but since his uncle/the owner gave him a job as a manager and this is an italian restaurant, he thought it would only be appropriate to make it more authentic) is standing by the front door, rubbing his hands with a satisfying smirk on his face. Stella, one of the waitresses taps him slightly on the shoulder. "Sir, we've got a code red in the kitchen" she whispers and it's a sentence he'd heard more than enough to last him a lifetime.

"Again? Jesus Christ, now what?!" he shakes his head and walks through the narrow door behind the bar. It's a familiar sight he comes to. Two girls are on the verge of crying and one of the guys is in a corner, breathing so heavy Maurizio thinks he's gonna have a heart attack or something.

"Shit Michael, what's the problem now?" he asks, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

"Oh I don't know" Mickey says, his back turned to everyone "why don't you ask one of the wimps over there" he turns to his staff and comes to stand next to the guy whose jaw is shaking so hard you can hear his teeth chatter. "You! Danny, Donnie, what _is_ your name?

"It's Jake, sir" boy says.

"Who gives a fuck. Tell Maurice why are those bitches crying like virgins on a prom night?" Jake cleares his throat and openes his mouth "I...I don't...I..." he's scared shitless of saying the wrong words and he's looking at Mickey like he just witnessed him killing his dog.

"I..I..I.. since when do you stutter? Man the fuck up and tell dear Maurice why this beaf tastes like a shoe sole, when it should be medium rare? Huh?" he moves forward one step and grabs a plate putting it up to Maurice's eye level "And this is supposed to be a Turkey in  cream sauce, but does it look like a turkey in  cream sauce? No it doesn't! And why's that?" he turns to one of the girls and gets within an inch from her face  "That's because _Heidi_ here doesn't know the difference between the sour cream and the cooking cream. I mean, how dificult could it be to just read the fucking label?!"

Mickey drops the plate into the sink, not noticing how everybody flinched to the sound of ceramics hitting a metal, and continues "I don't understand you people, I mean why do you work in the kitchen if you can't tell the diference between a garlic and an onion? This is art we're making here, fuckheads. This ain't no Burger King, this is the real thing. This is why there are fifty assholes with their wives and mothers and whores and who-the-fuck-ever standing outside waiting for a table. THIS!!" he makes a turn around the kitchen and leanes his palms against the sink with his head down, lowering his voice. "If you people don't understand the concept of good food and a work of art then you should probably get the fuck out of here and never turn around." Mickey exhales, shaking his head and closes his eyes. Everyone is standing stock still, they don't know whether to move or speak, they're looking at the chef, waiting for him to give them something.

"Look Michael, lets all just calm down and try to make it through this night somehow and tomorrow, when we sleep it off we'll figure out what to do, how to make this bearable, alright?" Maurizio looks at the girls and nodds, turns to Mickey and places a hand on his back.

Mickey just snorts and flips him off  "Get the fuck out of my kitchen and go manage whatever you're managing out there." With that he takes a deep breath and starts: "Ok, you John, make another beef steak and this time make sure it's medium rare, not burnt. You two crybabies go get  shrimps from the fridge and prepare a salad.  Ok people, lets get the move on it!"

Mickey looks at them and laughs inside "Fucking amateurs..."

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Meet the help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Quick,” Jake whispers and shoves a bowl of tomatoes in his hands, “turn around and pretend to be washing these before he sees you standing here doing nothing.” He runs to the fridge and as he takes out a plate with what looks to be meat?( Ian’s not sure) the back door opens and a black haired man enters the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry for the delay. It's just, so many things happened and I just haven't had the time to type in everything I already have writen on paper. I will try to post at least two more chapters by the end of the day. 
> 
> This is probably full of errors but I'll try to fix it later.

"Look Ian, you know how it is, right? I mean, she is her sister's kid and-"

 

"Yeah, I know how it is... But had she ever worked in a store before? Fuck, she's like, what, twelve?" Ian is sitting across the table from John, his soon to be ex-boss, thinking about how much of a pussy the guy must be for hiding behind his wife's skirt.

 

His wife’s sister begged her to give her fourteen year old daughter some kind of a job, anything really, just to keep her away from some twenty year old creep she called her boyfriend. And since Ian was the last one to come to work at the shop, the bitch simply decided to let him go. Don't get him wrong, it was a shitty job and all, but it payed the rent and put food on the table.

 

"C'mon man, you know I like you, you're my best employee but fuck man, she's family, what can I say?" Ian laughs at that. Right, family.

 

"Well fuck her John, let's see who gets the last laugh when the inventory fails, guess she'll have a family to cover for her, huh?"

 

"Ian c'mon… "

 

"Fuck it, I'm outta here," he grabs his backpack and storms out of the store. Shit, he just lost his job… To a fuckin' fourteen year old. And he really needs it, his landlord's been on his ass for a week now. He takes his phone out of his jeans pocket and writes a text:

 

**Got fired, wanna get high?**

 

He doesn’t even get the chance to put it back in when it buzzes;

 

Fuck yeah! Park in 15?

 

He replies with a simple **yes** and goes on his way.

  


*****

 

_New york has been Ian's home for the past four years. Ever since he can remember he wanted to go to a military academy. He spent his entire life dreaming about becoming somebody important, somebody who will matter. His life was a shit show, with five siblings, runaway mother and a deadbeat father who by the way wasn't even his father but his uncle, so everything Ian ever wanted was to come first. At least at something._

_He lived on the South side of Chicago and was pretty much poor like a church mouse. His older sister Fiona was their guardian and a substitute for a mother. There was his year older brother Lip, younger siblings Debbie, Carl and Liam. So Ian always kinda felt like he was in the middle, like nobody really saw him, or cared that much._

_The way he grew up on the Southside was no different for Ian from any other person in his neighborhood. Money was always an issue , it was hard when you had to wake up in the morning not knowing whether you'll have one or more decent meals that day. With a family as big as his there was no other option but to get a job at an early age, so he started working in a convenient store at the age of fourteen. All the money he earned went pretty much to the squirell fund his sister had started for the bills and groceries, so he couldn't even afford new clothes or shoes. Everything he had was his older brother's hand me downs._

_He got sick of it all, he didn't want to end up being stuck in this shithole for the rest of his life. But he also knew that no Gallagher had ever made it out there in the real world, so his hopes slowly deflated and he made peace with the fact that he's never gonna get out of here._

_The opportunity appeared when Lip got accepted to college. That made Ian believe that maybe being a Gallagher meant you had a shot, maybe if you put your mind to it you'll get to open that door and make a life for yourself. So he studied hard, practiced a lot and when he got the letter of acceptance to West Point he packed his duffel bag and waved his family goodbye. He was starting a new life._

 

*****

 

Ian is sitting in his favourite part of the Central park, on the south end when Lisa strolls on her rollerskates.

 

"Hey." she flops on the bench next to him.

 

"Hey."

 

"Geez, you could at least pretend to be happy to see me. I mean you texted me." Lisa rolls her eyes on him. She reaches into her backpack and takes her sneakers out.

 

"Ok, why are you always changing from your skates to sneakers when we come here?"

 

"Ian my dear friend, there are so many sick assholes out there, a girl's gotta be prepared to flee when necessary. And I'm faster on my rollerskates." Lisa simply says while putting her Nikes on."But when I'm with you, you'll protect me, right?"

 

"Mhm, keep telling yourself that, you're more badass than me, I saw you kick that Nick Morrison's ass last week."

 

"Well serves him right, talking shit about my brother like that... So what happened with your job?" she asks while fidgeting with her phone, opening an Angry birds app.

 

"Same old same old. Family comes first and that type of shit." Ian shrugs and opens a bear can he took from the store after leaving John's office. He takes a sip and lowers his head down.

"Fuck. I really needed that job, I'm behind on my rent, my landlord's gonna cut my balls off if I don't pay it by the end of this month. I'm screwed."

 

"I could lend you some money. And before you even try I know you're gonna say no, being all too proud and shit, but seriously, I'm here, you know that, right?" Lisa pats him on the shoulder and tilts her head to look at him.

 

"Nah, it's ok, I'll figure something out." he guzzles down the beer and gets up from the bench. "We're getting high or what?" he raises an eyebrow and nods in questioning.

 

"Yeah bitch. Got something new, I nicked it of Tony again, it's good stuff this time. C'mon." Lisa grabs his hand as they take off.

 

 

About an hour later, after they daze had gone down and their pupils came back to somewhat normal size, they are in mid Manhattan, Lisa wanted to buy some CD's from her favourite band Ian never even knew existed, some underground type or something. It was their best album yet apparently so she dragged him all the way down here because she just had to have it.

 

They are playfully walking down the street, tickling each other and pinching which was kinda funny because they are 23, both of them.

 

“So what are you gonna do now? Go look for another job or go back home?” Lisa asks as they stop waiting for  the traffic light to turn green.

 

“Fuck no, not coming back there,” Ian says, “I’m done with Chicago, that place sucked the life out of me.”

 

The light turns green and they cross to the other side. Couple of steps later something catches Lisa’s eye. There is a ‘HELP WANTED’ sign on a window of an italian restaurant. She stops in front of it and pulls Ian by the hand.

 

“Hey, look at this,” she points to it.

 

“What?” Ian asks looking over her shoulder.

 

“It says here that they’re hiring. Maybe you should give it a try,” Lisa shrugs her bony shoulders and before Ian’s brain has the time to absorb her words and explain that he doesn’t know how to wait tables or work in a kitchen, Lisa is already pulling him by the arm and leading inside the restaurant.

  
  


Turns out the sign was put on the window merely ten minutes before Ian entered the place. A woman that introduced herself as Stella (apparently she’s the head waitress and manager’s right hand) explained everything there was to know about the job. It was basically like the sign said, a help in the kitchen. That meant food preparation, washing kitchen appliances, floors, walls… Ok, he thinks to himself, he hadn’t cooked before (except mac’n’cheese every now and then, but seriously how does it even equals cooking?), not at his family home back in Chicago and certainly not here. It’s usually sandwiches and other fast food and maybe a dinner or two at Lisa’s once a week. But at least he has enough practice with cleaning and washing the dishes, so he figures he’ll give it a try. Can’t hurt, right? Plus he won’t have to run from his landlord anymore so that’s as good reason as any.

 

He accepts the job and gets a three day trial period. Stella warns him about the chef, says he’s a pain in the ass and if Ian can make it through next three days without cracking he’ll be staying permanently. With a nod and a handshake Ian agrees to come tomorrow at five p. m.

  


***

  


Next afternoon Ian actually shows up at the restaurant ten minutes earlier than he was told. Stella is there behind the bar wiping glasses and swaying in the rhythm of some slow music. She spots him standing awkwardly at the doorway and nods at him, inviting him in.

 

“Well, you’re here early,” she says.

 

“Yeah, my first day and all… Gotta make a good impression,” Ian puts his hands in his jeans pockets and shifts on his feet nervously.

 

Stella smiles and pulls him gently by the arm and starts walking in the direction of the kitchen, “C’mon, we gotta get you some work clothes,” she informs him and opens the revolving door gesturing him in. She stops in front of him with her right hand on her chin, his left one on her hip;it’s like she’s studying him. “I’m guessing…. medium?” she raises an eyebrow and after Ian nods she reaches into one of the lockers on the right and pulls out white cotton  jacket  and a grey checkered trousers, followed by a long white apron.She shoves it into his hands and tells him to change down at the last locker (which is going to be his by the way) before the rest of the staff comes in. he thanks her and goes behind the wall watching her leave through the revolving door back to her work position.

  


It turns out that the staff is actually pretty young and pretty cool. There’s Jenna, who came to New York to go to college and works at the restaurant to pay for her tuition and rent for a  small apartment she’s sharing with her college roommate.

 

Then there’s Jake, he’s relatively new, came here to pursue his acting career but ended up doing everything and anything just to get by. His folks back in Texas are very proud of him even though they don’t know he works in the kitchen; they think he’d made it because he somehow manages to send some cash every month to his baby sister that has leukemia and wants nothing more in the world than to see her big brother on TV one day.

 

And finally, Laura. Laura is actually pretty wealthy, well her parents are anyway, but they kind of smoothly kicked her out of the house after she came out to them as bisexual. And even though her mom stops once a month by her apartment that she shares with her girlfriend, Laura doesn’t want her money. She’s determined to make it on her own so she works here at the restaurant in the afternoons and teaches contemporary dance in her neighbor’s dance studio three times a week.

  


Half an hour after their introduction the four of them are standing by the sink, laughing and telling stories about their families when Jenna freezes mid-sentence. There is a loud noise coming from the back alley, like someone just kicked the dumpster, followed by a cat  meowing and a sharp *Fuck*. They all suddenly disperse around the room looking for something to do, leaving Ian totally dumbfounded and confused leaning against the sink.

 

“Quick,” Jake whispers and shoves a bowl of tomatoes in his hands, “turn around and pretend to be washing  these before he sees you standing here doing nothing.” He runs to the fridge and as he takes out a plate with what looks to be meat?( Ian’s not sure) the back door opens and a black haired man enters the kitchen.

 

Ian is standing by the sink with his back to the guy and his hands under the faucet, washing  the tomatoes one by one. This must be the chef, he thinks to himself, the one Stella warned him about. And if it’s judging by the guy’s lack of respect and common decency when he doesn’t even say Hi to his staff but immediately stomps to his locker and comes back a minute later in his work clothes tieing up the apron on his back,Ian guesses Stella didn’t exaggerate  when she said the chef was an asshole. But since this is his first day and he considers himself to be polite, Ian turns around and wipes his wet hands on the sides if his apron before reaching his right one out towards the dark haired guy.

 

“Hi,” he says when he sees the guy approach him, “my name is Ian Gallagher, I’m the new member of your staff, hopefully,” he offers a polite smile and a courteous nod but flinches when all he receives in return is a raised eyebrow and an annoying sigh from the chef.

 

“Well aren’t you a good little boyscout,” Mickey mocks, “tell you what, how about you get back to whatever the fuck you were doing a minute ago and let me  run this place. That means you don’t fuck with me and I don’t fuck with you. And don’t worry with the introductions, you won’t be here long enough for me to remember you,” The chef passes him and goes to stand by the stove, leaving Ian standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen with his hand stretched out and embarrassment written all over his face.

  
Well, it’s going to be interesting three days, that’s for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kudos and everything and I promise you that things are heating up in the next couple of chapters.


	3. The Eagle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So to conclude his evening; he finished his shift without any bitching from Maurice, which is surprisingly a good feeling no matter how much Mickey loves to get on the guy’s nerves, he has a beer and a smoke in his hands and he just had his dick sucked. Well, there have to be worse ways to spend the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well look at that. Two chapters in one day.  
> Anyway, I hope you haven't given up on me yet, I know it's a slow build but don't worry, things are gonna change.  
> Btw. the club is totaly legit. I have some inside informations and you wouldn't believe the shit that happens there. 
> 
>  
> 
> This is also full of mistakes. Don't hold it against me, I'll try to fix it.

 

 

 

Couple of hours into the second evening of his trial period and things are functioning pretty good in Ian’s opinion. Orders are coming in every couple of minutes, nothing too fancy or too difficult to prepare. Ian manages to carry out everything that is asked of him. Mostly it’s just peeling tomatoes and preparing vegetables but it’s kinda interesting. There is all this rush and excitement that he missed these past few months. 

The chef, Mickey, on the other hand is something, aright. He’s loud and rude for most of the time, yelling at everyone, Jake in particular, with no reason at all. He swears a lot, goes out for a smoke every fifteen minutes leaving them to handle things alone until he comes back in. All in all, Stella was telling the truth. 

The chef is back from one of his smoke breaks and is immediately back in his place in front of the stove. He shoves Ian away from it, not even thanking him for making sure the basil sauce didn’t burn. 

“The fuck you lookin’ at?” he asks when Ian doesn’t move. ”Somethin’ interesting on my face, Red?”

“No, sir,” Ian apologizes and turns away from him, heading for the sink. Jesus Christ, no way he’ll be able to last til the end of  this day, let alone one more. Jenna is there next to the sink, she offers him a compassionate smile and leans against him.

“Don’t mind him, he’s like that with everyone,”  she whispers, “just try not to get in his way and you’ll be fine.”

Well, isn’t that reassuring , Ian thinks to himself. But work is work, and if he gets payed for this he can force himself to endure whatever insult is thrown his way. He just hopes that his big mouth doesn’t get him in trouble.

When the shift is finally over and everyone except Ian and Jenna are already gone, Ian decides he wants to find out more about the chef. With all the work, the staff hasn’t even had time to talk and now that Jenna is here and has been working here the longest, he figures she should know more about Mickey.

“Hey, what’s the story with Mickey?” he asks while changing out of his work uniform. Jenna is standing by the door, ready to go home. She’s got some important test in couple of days so every free minute is important to her. She’s texting her roommate to inform her that she’ll be late.

“What?”she asks.

“The story with Mickey,” Ian repeats and puts his jacket on a hanger in his locker. “Is he always like this or did something happen to turn him into such an ass?”

“Well, I dunno much to be honest, he’s kind of a secret,” Jenna shrugs and continues,”all I know is that he’s moved here after finishing some cooking classes back home, he lives in Port Washington and is married to a daughter of the owner of one of New York’s oldest law firms.”

“Geez, wonder how crazy  she  must be if she can put up with him,” Ian shakes his head and grabs his backpack. He locks his locker and turns of the lights.

“Hey, you wanna go grab a drink or something?” Jenna asks him. He could say yes, he wasn’t planning on going home yet anyway, but noticing the look she’s giving him he decides not to.

“Nah, thanks, I gotta head home, I’m feeling tired and I don’t think I’d be much of a company anyway,” he lies, “sorry. Rain check?”

 

 

“Yeah, sure,” she nods and he doesn’t miss the look of disappointment in her eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he agrees and locks the door as they both exit through the back .

  
He doesn’t go home however. He’s feeling good and goes to his favourite club instead.

 

***

 

There’s this club on Chelsea that Mickey goes to when he’s feeling good after a job well done. It’s called ‘The Eagle’ and it was the first club Mickey went to after settling in NY seven years ago. Mickey loves it because it’s not stuffy and crowded like every other bar he’s been to, and the fact that it has a roof terrace only adds to it’s appeal. Because as much as Mickey loves to watch hot sweaty guys on the dancefloor he likes having his drink under the cool moonlight sky with those sweaty guys better. It also has  presentable pool tables and among firing a gun and cooking, pool is probably the best thing he’s good at. Not to mention it got him laid dozens of times already.

 

So here he is again, just like every sunday night. It’s one a.m. and his shift is over, and he’s here trying to have a good time and possibly get fucked, hopefully more than once. Sunday’s are Beer blast nights and there’s no one happier than Mickey right now because give him a free beer and a hot piece of ass and you are his friend for life.

 

He’s leaning against the wooden fence on the second floor holding a beer in his hand, looking down on the dancers. He’s got his eyes on a blonde guy standing next to the dancefloor. The guy is hot as hell, big broad shoulders and arms just about enough strong to manhandle Mickey the way he likes it. It’s only ten minutes and a beer later when Blondie looks up and meets his gaze, and after a quick eyebrow game nods towards the bathroom, biting the corner of his lips and then licking seductively around the top of his thumb, bringing it into his mouth bit by bit. That action alone is enough to make Mickey’s dick twitch in anticipation, after all it’s been over a month since he got laid properly (there were two times last week and the week before but nothing Mickey can be satisfied with) and Blondie sure looks like he’s good with his tongue.

 

Needles to say, Mickey is already down the stairs even before Blondie can pull that thumb out of his mouth. There are seven stalls in the downstairs restroom and thank fuck, at least one is free. Mickey enters and holds the door for Blondie, who locks it as soon as he comes in. He reaches for Mickey’s zipper and without any kind of foreplay he’s on his knees with Mickey’s dick in his mouth. It works fine for  Mickey, he’s never been into that slow build and foreplay kinda thing. Take it out, shove it in, pull out and that’s pretty much it. Maybe it’s still the fear inside him, the one he feels every time he’s somewhere near naked male body, the fear that still has him looking over his shoulder even though he’s eight hundreds miles away, safe in a place his past can’t catch up with him.

 

He grabs the guy’s hair and pulls a little, he likes that, likes that the fucker’s got hair long enough for Mickey to play with. Call it a fetish or whatever but Mickey sure loves to pull hair from whose ever head is between his legs at a given moment.

 

It ends too soon, Mickey is too horny and he comes down the guy’s throat  only three minutes later. Blondie gags as he’s trying to swallow Mickey’s cum, Mickey knows the guy didn’t want that but fuck him. The way Mickey was pulling his hair poor thing never stood a chance. It’s when Mickey lets go of Blondie’s head that the guy throws up in the toilete, breathing hard as he’s desperately trying to bring some air into his lungs. Mickey zips up and laughs because fuck this guy and his blowjob skills. Mickey on the other hand always swallows, that is if there’s a dick he likes involved. Which is what he can’t say for this guy even though he hasn’t even seen his junk yet. It’s just the feeling he has. And that feeling has him unlocking the stall door and exiting without a word, ignoring Blondie’s cries about how he should reciprocate or some shit. Yeah fucking right.

 

He’s at the bar next, still not willing to call it a night. He taps the bartender for a beer and nods when the guy pops him one. He needs a smoke so the next stop is the roofdeck. He finds a quiet corner and plops on a chair, there are three? guys making out from what he can see. He shakes it off and lights up a cigarette. 

 

So to conclude his evening; he finished his shift without any bitching from Maurice, which is surprisingly a good feeling no matter how much Mickey loves to get on the guy’s nerves, he has a beer and a smoke in his hands and he just had his dick sucked. Well, there have to be worse ways to spend the night.

 

He finishes his smoke and immediately lights up another one, he’s got half of beer left and it would be a damn shame to waste it so he’s giving himself another ten minutes before heading home. Those guys on the deck chair are still making out, Mickey doesn’t want to look but he can’t help but see one of them jerking off the other two while his own ass is being fingered. Now  that he wouldn’t mind, he thinks to himself. 

 

He’s just half way down the stairs when he sees a familiar face. It’s none other than his new help, Ian something, he thinks. Fuck if he’s going to remember the name of every fucker that comes and goes through his kitchen. They won’t last anyway, no one does.  But this one was really hard to miss because the guy had his face stretched in a fucking smile all through the evening. Why would anyone even smile like that all the time? His life must be one hell of an interesting thing if the kitchen is what’s making him grin like a monkey with a new banana.

 

Ian  Something is currently  in the center of the dance floor, swinging and swaying in his own imaginary  rhythm that has absolutely nothing to do with the song whatsoever. There is some tall ass dude behind him, moving in the same stupid way shaking his ass and getting closer and closer to the redhead with every beat, not stopping until his crotch is pressing against Ian  Something’s  ass. 

 

Ian doesn’t even flinch, he just reaches around and places his hands on Tall guy’s hips, moving them together, leaning his head on the guy’s shoulder. The sight of them dancing and thrusting against each other is hot as hell and Mickey doesn’t understand why his eyes are drawn to them when there are couple of dozens of guys doing exactly the same. But for some reason he can’t seem to look away.

 

When DJ changes the music into something slower Ian and the Tall guy are still on the dancefloor, only this time they are moving in somewhat of a sexier, hot as fuck way. Ian has got his hands behind his back, firmly gripping the Tall guy’s ass and drawing circles with his hips, grinding against his crotch and leaning his back into Tall guy’s chest.  Jesus Christ , the boy can move. 

 

Mickey strides couple of steps down to get a better look, just as the light of the reflectors illuminates Ian’s face. His lips are slightly parted and he closed his eyes clearly enjoying the man behind him. Tall guy puts his hands underneath Ian’s shirt exposing his hard abs and God, how the fuck did Mickey not notice that pecks already? They’ve been working together for three days now for fuck’s sake, where the hell had Red been hiding those? Mickey licks his lips and suddenly feels warm, his dick twitching in his jeans. Christ, he had his dick sucked like half an hour ago and he’s still not satisfied. 

 

Tall guy grabs Ian’s hair with his right hand and pulls it back while his left one remains under Ian’s shirt and from the outline of it Mickey sees that he’s playing with Ian's nipple. Ian tightens his hold on Tall guy’s ass and reaches for the guy’s hand, placing it on his own dick. Tall guy says something in his ear and not a second later the duo heads towards the restrooms. Mickey abruptly makes a bee-line towards the bar, hell if he’s gonna let his staff talk about him being gay and shit. As far as they are concerned Mickey is perfectly happy with Sandra.

 

But as he’s watching restroom doors  from his safe place at the bar, he can’t help but imagine what Red and Tall guy are up to in there. Is Ian taking it? Is he maybe giving it? Or are they just blowing each other, or maybe jerking each other off? He closes his eyes for a second trying to picture Ian’s dick, it must be some piece of meat. With hands that big it’s a given, he thinks. It’s probably the perfect shade of pink, slightly curved, most likely circumcised, sticking out among the  forest of curly orange hairs. He’s so into his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the guy behind him asking  if he’s down to fuck.

 

He just grabs the guy’s hand and pulls him towards the restroom, picks a stall furthest from the door and locks it, ignoring the guy’s mumbling about how sexy and hot he is. He doesn’t care at this point who the guy is and what he looks like; he’s got a dick and that’s all that matters. 

 

“Fuck me,” Mickey says and pulls his pants and boxers down, bracing himself against the door. His dick is leaking and is painfully hard so he figures he won’t last more than few minutes. 

 

“Want me to blow you first or… ” the guy asks.

 

“No, I’m good, just get on with it already, Jesus,” Mickey retorts and couple of seconds later he feels a slick finger entering him slowly. He pushes back onto it and then feels another one pressing in.

 

“I’m good, now get on me man, let’s get this show on the road,” he orders and bites his fist when he feels hot flesh filling him up. The guy is gentle and takes his time but Mickey doesn’t do gentle. He likes it rough and hard to the point it hurts. So he pushes back onto the guy’s cock and starts stroking himself in rhythm of the guy’s thrusts. 

 

He closes his eyes and images of Ian’s taut abs and big strong biceps come before him. Jesus fuck, he wishes it was Ian pounding into him like this. He’s sure Ian would fill him up good, make him come hard and fast. The guy behind him is mumbling something Mickey doesn’t even bother to understand, he’s far too busy thinking about Ian’s long fingers wrapped around his dick, his pink mouth filled with Mickey’s cock, him swallowing down whatever Mickey has to offer.

 

He wonders if Ian and the Tall guy are done yet, they must be in here still. Mickey is sure he hasn’t seen Ian exiting the restroom while sitting at the bar. And he knows it because he had his eyes on that door all the time. There are voices coming from the stall next to his, moans and broken sighs. He recognizes one of them, it’s Ian’s goddamn voice in the stall next to him. 

 

“Shut up,” Mickey says to the guy behind him, “shut the fuck up.”

 

He lifts his head and leans closer to the wall. He hears Ian moan and the other voice groaning : ” ...yeah, c’mon… give it to me, yeah… ”.Jesus fucking Christ, Ian is a top. Now his imagination is really working overtime. Just as he hears Ian in the next stall asking Tall guy:  ”You gonna come?”  he feels his own orgasm approaching and he tightens his grip and starts jerking himself harder, pumping his shaft with more force than ever. 

  
He bites his fist trying to muffle the sound coming from his mouth as he spills over the door in front of him, listening to string of Ian’s  fuck, fuck, fuck , almost feeling the redhead filling his insides with white warmth and he shakes all through his orgasm, not giving a fuck about the guy behind him. When it’s all done and he’s dressed up, the realization hits him.

He just came harder than he ever did, all the while thinking about the guy he works with. 

Shit .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter this evening or early tomorrow.


	4. Making friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, Ian finds himself thinking about Mickey more times than he would actually want to. Not that he would want to think about his boss in the first place. But there’s something about the guy that just keeps messing with his judgment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! I've managed to type in one more chapter. Look at that...
> 
> So this is when things are actually starting to go somewhere.

 

On the fourth day, just after he finishes his trial period Stella informs Ian that he got the job. He’s relieved, at least now he won’t have to hide from his landlord, so that’s a plus. Jenna and the others are glad he’s staying, the four of them kinda clicked from that very first meeting. Which is not what he can say about Mickey Milkovich.

 

Honestly, Ian finds himself thinking about Mickey more times than he would actually want to. Not that he would want to think about his boss in the first place. But there’s something about the guy that just keeps messing with his judgment. It’s not the attitude, Ian had seen plenty of assholes and bad ass wannabes to last him a lifetime. Where he comes from, that’s natural, you have to behave like that in order to survive. It’s not even the FUCK-U-UP written on his knuckles, Ian is not afraid of them. He thinks they are kind of hot actually, at least on Mickey.

 

No, it’s definitely something else. Maybe it’s the colour of Mickey’s eyes, they are the shade Ian had never seen before. It’s not like he was staring into them or anything, he just notices things, he’s good at that. So he noticed that they are bright blue when Mickey comes to work in the afternoon but then change into a much darker shade by the end of the shift.

 

Or maybe it’s the contrast of his dark hair against his pale milky skin, the skin Ian can only imagine being as soft as it appears to be. 

 

Or that little thing Mickey does with his tongue when he’s trying hard to concentrate, like licking the inside of his mouth. It’s more like he runs his tongue over his teeth but whatever it is, it’s hot as hell and Ian can’t get enough of it. He doesn’t glare of course, he just notices.

 

So at the end of the day, as he’s laying in his bed, he relizes he can’t get Mickey out of his head. And that is not good. Because the last thing he wants is to start falling for his boss.

 

***  

 

It’s yet another busy night, another praise for the chef and another tough evening in the kitchen for everyone. Maurizio is counting the profits, the waitresses are busy counting tips and the kitchen staff is long gone. Except Ian, who stayed behind to clean up a bit. Well he isn’t even tired anyway, he just doesn’t want to be home alone. So he figures he’ll unload the dishwasher and take a long walk home. Only because the night is beautiful and the stars are shining brighter than ever. 

 

He steps out of his work clothes and shoves them into his backpack, making a quick mental note to wash them before work tomorrow. They are greasy and  sweaty, not to mention a big bowl of spinach that ended up on them since apparently Pino, the new mexican guy on a three day trial period which he failed on the very first day, can’t hold his hands still as he grabs the bowl because Mickey has got his eyes on him and Pino just happens to trip over and drop it on Ian.

 

He puts his shirt and jeans on and runs his hand awkwardly through his hair before going to the door. He notices something in Mickey’s locker as he passes it. It looks like a wallet, Mickey must have forgotten it since he did leave in a hurry, so without thinking twice Ian figures he’ll drop it off by his house  first thing tomorrow. It’ll be a nice opportunity to see Mickey outside of workplace. And maybe Ian could even convince him to go for a coffee. As if. Jesus Christ he must get stupid ideas out of his head.  God .

 

He goes back to the table Maurizio is sitting at and asks for Mickey’s address. Maurizio looks up at him with frown eyebrows but scribbles it down on the paper nevertheless and Ian puts it in his pocket next to where Mickey’s wallet is.

 

He walks out of the restaurant, it’s only one a.m. and he doesn’t feel like going home yet. The night is definitely made for a hookup at least but one quick sniff at the skin on his shoulders and arms and that thought is immediately forgotten. After all, the smell of garlic and spinach does definitely not constitute as a love potion.

 

***

 

Next morning Ian wakes up around eight, he’s tired as hell but the broken shades on the window of his shitty apartment are leading the sun directly into his eyes. After little grunting he gets up and stumbles into the kitchen to put the pot on the stove while he finishes his morning routine of pissing, washing his face and, if the water pressure is high enough, showering. He remembers that he has laundry to do, his work clothes and two out of three sheets he owns  that are soaking with sweat because the super forgot to mention that the A/C in this dump just like every other goddamn thing is either broken or on a good path to become that way.

 

After texting Lisa to meet him at the laundrymat Ian skips through the fire escape, a bag of laundry in his hand, because he can hear the landlord in the hall and he doesn’t have the energy to fight with him over his rent that is now three months overdue.Well, shit. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Hey,” Lisa says as he plops on a chair next to him. “Geez, what’s with a sour face?” she wonders. Ian opens his eyes glancing sideways at her and leans his head on her shoulder.

 

“Fucking sun woke me up way too early,” he grunts with a yawn, “swear to God, one of these days I’m gonna nail a fucking blanket to the window.” 

 

“Damn, you sound like an old grumpy grandpa,” Lisa pokes him playfully in the bicep, “So what are we doing today? Wanna sneak into a college gym, watch hot guys take a shower? Could be lucrative for both of us… ” she smirks at him playing with her dangling feet.

 

“As much as that sounds tempting, I can’t today. Mickey, I mean mr. Milkovich  forgot his wallet at work so I was thinking about taking it to him, y’know… ”he shrugs and flicks his gaze to the floor.

 

“Oh no, no, no… ” she jumps from her chair and stands in front of him shaking her head, “No way I’m gonna let you go there alone. I’m coming with, when else am I gonna have an opportunity  to witness Grinch in his own natural environment?”

 

“Fuck off, I’m not letting you tag along,” Ian warns, “he’ll probably be pissed at me for even touching his things.”

 

“So why are you going then? Could always leave the wallet at work. Unless... ”she opens her mouth as wide as she can but immediately claps a hand on it, as if she just discovered the biggest secret in her life.”Ian Gallagher, are you crushing on your boss???”

 

He jumps from his seat and practically runs towards the dryer as to check up on the laundry even though he knows he started it like five minutes ago.

 

“What?! No! Absolutely not!... No way! No!”

 

“Iaaaaaaan… ” Lisa sings.

 

“No way, I mean he’s not even… I don’t… ”

 

“Ian!”

 

“Or maybe… hell, no… ”

 

“IAN!” she yells and claps her hands on both sides of her face, “Oh my God, you totally are! You’re crushing on the fucking chef! That is so sweet!” Lisa squeals and Ian demonstratively starts clearing his ears with pointer fingers.

 

“You are a fucking psycho, I’m not crushing on Mickey for fuck’s sake,” he professes as he leans against the dryer on his elbows, “”And if I was, which I’m not saying I am, he is about as gay as I am straight. Not to mention the fact that he’s married?

 

“Jesus, when had that ever stopped you before,” Lisa says with an eye-roll and takes the chewing gum out of her mouth and sticks it under the chair she’s sitting on.

 

“Christ, you’re disgusting,” Ian makes a face and shoves her away when she sticks her tongue at him.

 

And just like that, the conversation about Mickey is over as fast as it began.

 

.***

  
  


Walking through the suburbs in North Shore of Long Island Ian thinks about what Lisa said. Is it true? Could he be starting to have feelings for Mickey? If he was being honest he could say that they have been developing some sort of a connection lately. Or maybe it’s just in his head? Besides, all those secret looks that Mickey had been giving him lately could easily be just him checking out and making sure his new worker is doing things right.

 

But the thing is, Ian doesn’t mind those totally unsubtle glances. He likes it actually, the way Mickey turns his head back to the stove when he realizes that he’d been noticed and his cheek blush with discomfort. Or how his eyes escape and he watches Ian’s hands as he’s slicing tomatoes. 

 

Jesus, Ian really needs to sort his shit and stop this crush or whatever he has on Mickey before it gets out of hand.

  
  


Which doesn’t explain how half an hour later he finds himself in Port Washington, standing in front of a big, old victorian styled house. He raises his sweaty hand and with a lump in his stomach rings the doorbell. Couple of seconds later the door opens to reveal a small blonde figure with the most beautiful smile Ian had ever seen on a woman.

 

“Yes, may I help you?” the woman says and Ian hears the tenderness and softness in her voice. He doesn’t even notice that he’s staring at her but  after she repeats herself he clears his throat and gathers enough composure to speak. 

 

“Hi, um… my name is Ian Gallagher, I work with your husband,” he offers a hand.

 

“ Oh hi, I’m Sandra, Mickey’s wife, nice to meet you Ian,” she nods and shakes it with a courteous smile.

 

He reaches into his pocket and takes out a black leather item, handing it to her . “Um, your husband forgot his wallet at work so I thought I’d bring it to him,” he explains but she just shakes her head briefly.

 

“No, you give it to him yourself,” she says, “after all, it’s not every day that Mickey has visitors, especially someone from work.” 

 

She opens the door a bit wider and gestures him in.

 

The house is quite large. There is a sizeable circular staircase with carved wooden fence in the middle of the hallway, probably leading to the bedrooms. Everything is so neatly placed, without too much detail and yet with just enough taste. It can be no doubt about it shown in one of those magazines that select the most beautiful house and garden every year, Ian thinks. It makes his Chicago house look like nothing more than a crappy hut.

 

“Come on, he’s just upstairs in his studio,” she leads him up the stairs and into a small hallway that ends up with a brown wooden door.

 

“There,” she knocks on the door and opens it slightly,  and then turns to leave but before she does she adds ”just  ignore his bitchy mood.” With that she smiles and leaves.

  
  


Ian enters the attic and is immediately stunned with the sight. There’s Mickey, standing against the window with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and Ian feels his heart must have stopped beating for a short second and his brian definitely short circuited because, Jesus Christ isn’t this man the most beautiful thing Ian’d ever seen?

 

And maybe he blames it on one simple ray of sun that’s poking through the translucent material of the window, shining down on Mickey’s pale shoulders, or it may be the scent of paint and a mixture of sweat and cologne filling the room. Or a cigarette smoke surrounding Mickey’s silhouette, but the moment  Mickey turns around and his blue eyes lock with Ian’s, Ian knows this is more than just a simple crush. He had crushes before, but none of them filled his stomach with butterflies or caught his breath like this one here.

 

He sees Mickey’s lips moving but his own feel like they are glued shut. When Mickey starts coming towards him with a confusion written all over his face Ian snaps out of his gaze and reaches into his jacket pocket fishing out Mickey’s wallet.

 

“The fuck are you doing here?” Mickey asks seriously.

 

“I, um...You forgot your stuff last night. Thought I’d bring them to-” but before Ian can finish  Mickey snatches the wallet from his hand and immediately reaches for the door, opening it and gesturing for Ian to leave.

 

“You need to get the fuck outta here. Like now,” Mickey says angrily.

 

But Ian, being a stupid dumbass he is, just ignores whatever Mickey’s saying and invites himself in, enters further into the room scanning the surroundings and gazing at the paintings spread out against the floor and the large grey couch in the corner.

 

”Man these are good,” he utters completely surprised. Because this is probably the last thing he thought he would find in Mickey’s place. “I mean, these are fucking great,” he turns to the chef who is still awkwardly standing with his hand clutching the door knob and a dumbfounded look on his face. “Relax man, I’m not gonna tell anyone about this,” Ian assures as he tries to soothe this whole unpleasant situation. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he continues, “but these are really, really good. I didn’t know you could draw like this.” 

 

Mickey closes the door and walks over to the small cupboard in the middle of the room and grabs a beer from the fridge behind it.

 

“Want one?” he asks Ian.

 

“Sure,” Ian says and nods down towards the paintings, “you made all of these?”

 

“Yeah,” Mickey says as he moves two paintings off the corner couch and plops down on it. “It’s just something that relaxes me. I’ve been drawing since I was a kid,” he takes a gulp and glances at Ian who is admiring the art.”But you’re not supposed to see this,” he adds.

 

“Why?” Ian furrows and faces Mickey, “you don’t want people to know you lead a normal life? That you’re nothing like that guy at the restaurant, that disgruntled asshole that’s always screaming at everyone?” And when Mickey opens his mouth like he is about to react to Ian’s insult, Ian just puts his hands up and finishes; “Don’t worry, like I said, I won’t tell anyone.”

 

“Thanks,” is all Mickey says and Ian doesn’t miss his failed attempt to hide a smile that is slowly appearing in the corner of his lips. Ian leans his back against the cupboard holding a beer in his hand and looks at Mickey before taking a sip from the bottle.

 

“So how did you become such a badass?” he questions.

 

And after couple of seconds of looking at Ian Mickey starts talking. And for some reason Ian is listening to him, although he doesn’t even know why. God knows he never thought he would be  in Mickey’s house one day, drinking his beer and listening to his life story. But it feels so easy and he is relaxed and doesn’t even care if he puts on a smile every now and then. Because Mickey is talking to him, telling him stories about his childhood and his mom and sister , and they appear to be two best friends that haven’t seen each other in a long time and need to catch up with everything that had been happening in their lives. 

 

And Mickey smiles, his beautiful pink lips stretch wide as he laughs so genuinely to something funny he just said, something Ian doesn’t even register but keeps looking at him, laughing along with him.

 

***

 

And even though they may feel a little closer to each other after that day in Mickey’s attic, they still maintain a strictly professional distance at work. Except Mickey doesn’t yell that much anymore, he feels more relaxed being around Ian and he even lets himself steal a glance of the redhead every now and then and offers a short smile when he catches Ian looking back at him. He doesn’t hide it.

 

Somehow they end up spending every break together, usually smoking  in the back alley , swapping stories about their childhoods. Ian tells Mickey about his family and his father not being  his father and he says he doesn’t even  know why he's telling him that in the first place. He tells him that the only person outside of his family that knows about Clayton is Lisa and that it is only because he knew she would never judge him or look down on him. 

 

And Mickey tells him about his dead beat dad and about all the stupid shit he'd done in the past, he talks about  his favourite person in the world, his sister. And he tells him about his mom, things he hadn't told his wife, things his own sister doesn't know. But Ian doesn't laugh at him, doesn't look down on him, just sits there and listens. Mickey doesn't miss the way those beautiful big green  eyes smile when Mickey talks about happy memories and how they feel sorry when he remembers something painful or sad.

 

And Mickey realises that having a friend is not half as bad as he thought. It’s good actually, it feels nice and he gets that warm feeling in his chest every time they are together and he doesn’t want it to end. Ever. 

  
  


***

 

It’s another hot, sunny afternoon and Mickey and Ian are on their break, sitting on the stairway outside of the restaurant, sharing a cigarette. It was kind of a funny thing at the beginning for Mickey, sharing a smoke with some guy he works with, it felt too intimate and he felt too close to Ian. But he thought that that was probably the closest he’ll ever get to Ian so he savoured every minute with him and memorized every single time their fingers would brush when they would pass the cigarette to one another.

 

They are sitting there in the alley leaned against the wall and  Mickey keeps looking at the man on his right and can’t stop thinking about sunday night and the club.

 

“So um, I saw you at the club at sunday night,” he awkwardly blurts out. Jesus did he just say that outloud?   

 

“The Eagle? What were you doing in a gay club?” Ian wonders and gives Mickey a questionable look.

 

“I um, one of Sandra’s friends had his birthday there so we tagged along,” he lies and hopes Ian doesn’t see through it.

 

“Well why didn’t you come over, we coulda had a drink,” Ian says, looking at him sideways from where he’s sitting.

 

Mickey grabs a small rock from beside his leg and throws it, watches it as it rolls down the alley and ends up under a green dumpster.” Nah man, you were kinda busy, didn’t feel like intruding or anything,” he says back.

 

“No, c’mon, you could have come over, no bother,” Ian smiles and takes a drag from the cigarette before passing it to Mickey. Their fingers brush just like every other time they shared a smoke and Mickey does his best to control his heartbeat, because feeling Ian on his skin even for just a nanosecond is the most wonderful sensation in the world. He flicks the ashes onto the ground as he brings the smoke to his mouth, leaving it lingering between his lips for a moment and spares a quick glance at the redhead. ”So, didn’t know you were… y’know?” he gives Ian a one shoulder shrug and takes a drag.

 

Ian knits his eyebrows in confusion,  “What, gay?” he asks.

 

It makes Mickey nervous because he doesn’t know if Ian is willing to talk to him about it and he sure as hell doesn’t want to hear about his boyfriend but the damage is already done so Mickey thinks, what the hell. “Yeah, I mean, I ain’t gotta problem with that, I can tell you that right now, ‘s just, I was little surprised. I thought that girl from the store was your girlfriend.”

 

“Lisa? Nah, she’s my best friend, well my only friend actually. We’d met on the first day I moved here, she lives just across the street from my building.”

 

“You moved here? You mean you’re not from New York?” Mickey wonders as he passes the smoke back to Ian.

 

Ian shakes his head and takes one more long take from the cigarette before he stubbs the but under his right tennis shoe. Mickey watches from the corner of his eye as Ian tilts his head against the wall and the way his lips form a perfectly shaped ‘O’s’ is having Mickey’s breath catch in his lung. Because Jesus god, he never ever thought that the sight of another man puffing out smoke could be fucking hot. He licks the corner of his mouth and closes his eyes for a brief second trying to fight the image that pops into his brain. An image of Ian’s perfect pink lips pressed against  his or wrapped around his dick and he wishes that for once in his life he  wasn’t such a fucking coward.

 

“Nope, Chicago born and bred,” Ian says and turns his whole body to Mickey with head still against the wall, ” came here to get away from everything y’know. I told you about it,full house, six siblings, runaway mom, alcoholic dad… Real life Southside. It became too much at one point, I just needed to get away”.

 

“Wait, you’re from Southside? Chicago Southside?” Mickey widens his eyes and furrows his brows at him.

 

“Yeah. Don’t sound that surprised,” Ian huffs  with an eye roll.

 

“No, ‘s not that, what I meant was… I’m from the Southside too,” he quickly corrects himself. “What neighborhood?”

 

“Canaryville,” Ian replies and Mickey’s eyebrow shoot up.

 

“No fucking way!” he yells, “me too!”

 

Ian offers a smile while turning to the left to face Mickey fully. “Yeah? See, another thing we have in common,” he punches Mickey slightly in the shoulder,” Y’know what Mick? You’re not as half as bad as you like people to think of you,” he concludes.

 

Mickey curves the corner of his lips and pretends that the gentle punch in his shoulders did absolutely whatsoever nothing to him. “Fuck off. It ain’t my fault  people are dickheads. They don’t see I just want to do things right. Y’know, make it good so everyone likes it . If they can’t deal with that, fuck’em.”

 

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Ian agrees, ”like, when I decided to come out, it didn’t bother me for one second what everyone’s gonna think of me. I knew who I was and nothing and noone could make me feel different,” he shrugs and turn his gaze to the ground, drawing imaginary patterns in the cement.

 

Mickey notices how gentle his hands are, completely different from when they are chopping onions or stirring the sauce. And God, the way Ian’s long fingers are slowly circling around one small rock beside his left knee...  He mentally slapps himself for staring at them, and  thinking about what they would feel like around his neck, his stomach, his waist...He feels like a  fucking teenager having a first crush but he remembers where he is and where they are so he clears his throat before speaking. “You certainly got some balls man… Coming out in a neighborhood like ours takes gutt.”

 

“Well I didn’t exactly come out to the entire neighborhood,it was mostly my family and close friends.” Ian clarifies looking back up at Mickey.

 

“Yeah but how did you find you a guy to...y’know?” Mickey asks curiously and makes an awkward gesture towards Ian. 

 

“Fuck?”

 

“Jesus, you don’t beat around the bush, do you?” Mickey is surprised by the redhead’s directness.

 

Ian laughs before replying, “I guess you kinda feel it. It’s like an aura around people. Like they say, you have that certain feeling about a person. Call it gaydar or whatever but it never failed me so far… You know, funny thing is…” Ian starts but suddenly closes his mouth, like he’s thinking about whether he wants to say something or keep it to himself.

 

“What?” Mickey smiles.

 

“Nothing, ‘s just…You’ll laugh at this.”

 

“Nah, c’mon. what is it?” he pokes Ian in the shoulder.

 

“I had that feeling when I met you. Guess my gaydar failed me for the first time, right?” Ian shrugs and looks down at the ground.

 

“Well it can’t always work, can it?” Mickey replies quickly before Ian takes this further.

 

“Guess not.” Ian gathers.

  
Yeah, guess not , Mickey lies to himself.  Guess not.


	5. A shooting range,a motorcycle and some good weed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey’s looking at him for couple of seconds, knows Ian’s smugness is well deserved, before he suggests, “Two out of three? Winner buys a beer?” And honestly, even if Ian gets all the shots into the center again it’ll be worth the humiliation. Because watching Ian shoot a gun is probably the hottest and most beautiful thing Mickey had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, just been busy with Christmas coming closer and all. I can safely say that this is kind of a filler chapter, so not much going on in it except our boys being beautiful dorks. Also, it's after 2 a.m. so I'm too tired to edit it... Hopefuly you won't hold it against me <3

_Two years since him moving to New York things were going pretty well for Mickey. After taking on a couple of jobs that weren’t even close to  what he wanted to be doing, he finally caught a break when one of the head chefs in the restaurant he’d been working in said that he had a friend that was looking for a new chef. Apparently his restaurant was re-opened after almost a year of renovations and he wanted new, fresh and young staff. Without even thinking twice Mickey was sitting across the table from the owner for an interview the very next day._

_The job was everything he ever wanted. He had freedom to do whatever he desired, he chose  his staff, tried to incorporate new recipes into the restaurant’s menu every couple of days. All in all he was happy. Or at least happier than he was up until that point._

_The clientele of the new restaurant composed of rich people well known in New York’s social circles. Everyone from lawyers, big companies’ CEOs and respectable business owners to supermodels and famous singers and actors. To Mickey it really didn’t matter. What mattered to him the most was the food he was making and the joy and satisfaction that it brought people. He was never one of those people that needed validation or praise, he knew he was damn good at what he did and that was praise enough for him._

_Sandra Wallace was one of the people that would come to the restaurant  almost every evening. Her father was Harry Wallace, owner of Wallace & Kindl, one of New York’s famous and best  law firms. He made a name for himself  in the early seventies after arguing that the search that the police executed on Jim Perkins’ car was unlawful which resulted in mistrial and meant that Jim Perkins would not be held accountable for murder of his ex girlfriend. Mickey only knows these things because Tito, the mexican waiter was crazy about crimes and trials and that stupid CSI shit. So after weeks and weeks of listening to Tito’s ramblings it was inevitable for some informations to get stuck in Mickey’s brain._

_One late evening after finishing his shift Mickey was in the back alley of the restaurant smoking a cigarette when Sandra approached him. She wanted to meet the person whose work she marveled so much. After a brief introduction they began talking and two days later she came to the restaurant again._

_Mickey knew what she wanted from him so he thought that the best way to spare her the trouble was to told her who he was. Strangely enough she wasn’t shocked, surprised yes, and he wasn’t embarrassed. Probably for the first time in his life, he felt proud because he came out to someone. Someone other than all those random guys from different  clubs he would go to when he wanted to get laid._

_Sandra was a beautiful woman, same height as Mickey and had a tattoo on her left shoulder that said: The hardest ones to love are the ones that need it most. Mickey liked her, she reminded him of Mandy._

_They became good friends and ended up spending every saturday night out together. Mickey met her family and told her about his sister and his life before New York. He wasn’t afraid to open up to someone like her because no matter how much money she had or how known her family was, she was just as lost and hurt as he was._

_Half a year into their friendship her father got sick. Since she was his only child she would inherit everything in case of his death. The only problem was - she wasn’t married. The old man gave her an ultimatum; either she would get married or she would lose everything and all of his possessions would go to charity. Most logical thing was to get married, of course. And to whom better than the person she spent the last year with, the person that was her best friend and confidant._

_The wedding was small and private due to her father’s illness. Mickey rented a tuxedo and sent Mandy some pics from the reception and teared up when she texted him in return; I’m really happy for you Mick, you deserve to have some happiness in your life. Love you big bro <3_

_Three months later old Harry died and Mickey and Sandra moved to Port Washington. Life was good, they both had jobs they loved, Sandra had her girlfriends she went out with and Mickey would occasionally join them but he was way  more comfortable sitting alone in one of the bars, hitting on some random. Nobody knew their arrangement, everybody thought of them as a happily married couple. And Sandra’s family name carried some benefits. An old friend of her dad’s wanted to invest into the restaurant and asked Mickey to run it. But Mickey had never considered himself to be a leader so he politely declined the offer and instead took a job as a head chef at ‘Alfredo’s’._

 

***

 

“Listen, I was thinking...” Mickey blurts out one afternoon as they are sitting on a park bench watching joggers passing by, one hotter and more chiseled  than the other, “since we’re both Southside, maybe we could like, shoot a gun sometimes.” When Ian ignores him, even though it doesn’t seem like he’s doing it on purpose, Mickey pokes him hard in the shoulder to get his attention.

 

“Ouch, what?” Ian rubs the sore spot and finally turns to Mickey.

 

“I said, since we’re both Southside maybe we could shoot sometimes. You do know how to shoot a gun, right?”

 

“Do I know how to shoot a gun?” Ian asks incredulously, “Hell yeah, I was in ROTC man, I can shoot a freckle from two hundred yards,” he says proudly, puffing out his chest as he does.

 

“Oh yeah? Wanna prove it, tough guy?” Mickey challenges and enjoys the smile spreading across Ian’s lips.

 

“Sure, what’d you have in mind?”

 

“There’s this shooting range in Chelsea I go to twice a month,” Mickey explains, “it’s not like being back home but it’s alright if you want to blow out some steam, y’know.”

 

“Ok, sure, I could check it out, maybe you could take me  with you next time,” Ian agrees and MIckey nods in agreement.

 

“So what did you shoot from?” Mickey asks, ‘cause if there’s one thing in life he knows beside cooking, it’s guns, been surrounded by them his whole life. Guns were his shield from the rest of the world, guns made him tougher.

 

“We had mostly M4 and later they’d give us a M 249 Saw, but my neighbor back in Chicago had a Glock 45, I used to shoot it every weekend under the L,” Ian remembers.

 

“No shit, me too. Back when I was living there. I could have picked from The Chopper to an Uzi Sub, my dad had like, eight drawers full of them. Glock is my favourite though, learned to shoot it when I was nine,” Mickey says and stubbs a cigarette with his shoe.

 

“Shit man, when I was nine I was still playing with a bb gun, ” Ian laughs and gets up from his spot on the bench, “c’mon, we better go.”

 

“What, you done feastin’ your eyes already?” Mickey scoffs and gently slaps Ian’s shoulder .

 

“Fuck off, it’s not my fault they are all so… mmm… ” Ian closes his eyes and stretches his lips into a smile, a smile that had already found it’s way to Mickey’s heart.

 

***

 

The West Side Rifle & Pistol Range is hidden in the basement level of a normal looking building. But once you enter, you are being thrown into completely another world. Every single person working there is packing, even the old man behind the main counter. “He sure looks like he used to be a badass back in the days,” Ian says.

 

“Yeah, bet you he could blow your brains out without so much as blinking,” Mickey agrees.

 

They rent a lane and buy couple of targets. Mickey picks out a Luger .22 and a box of bullets. He decides to go first and show Gallagher what he’s made of. He puts on his mufflers and assumes  the position. Before loading his weapon he spares a sideway glance at Ian. The guy is standing on Mickey’s right with his mufflers on and arms across his chest and is looking at Mickey with impatience.

 

“Any time today will be fine,” Ian quirks an eyebrow.

 

“Shut up, I’m gettin’ to it, alright?”  Mickey retorts and shakes his head at the redhead’s eyeroll.

 

He clears his throat and grips the gun tighter. His aim is perfect as always, he takes pride in almost never missing the bullseye. And today is no different. He fires six shots and every one of them end up straight in the middle of the paper target. He puts the gun down and takes off his mufflers, leaving them hooked behind his neck.

 

“Top that mr. I-can-shoot-a-freckle-from-where-the-fuck-ever,” he mocks all smugly and proud of himself.

 

“Alright, Annie Oakley, give it here,” Ian laughs when Mickey pointedly raises an eyebrow at hearing his new nickname. He puts the mufflers back on and watches Ian take the stance.

 

Ian’s got his legs slightly open, obviously following the obligatory _feet are shoulder-width apart_ stance that they teach you in the army, and his shoulders straight. He picks up the gun with his right hand and after reloading it grips it slightly, with his index finger gently on the trigger, and then cups his left hand and cradles his right hand in it. Mickey tries not to stare at  the little twitch of the guy’s bicep when Ian tightens his grip but fails miserably. He has to hold in a breath. _Jesus_. Ian rolls his shoulders and his head theatrically and smirks at Mickey when the brunet rolls his eyes in return.

 

“Let me show you how it’s done,” Mickey hears Ian say, “watch and learn from the master.”

 

Mickey makes another dramatic eye-roll at his smugness because really, that’s all he can do right now,  and secretly hopes to God Ian misses the shot so he can at least have the chance to gloath later. Ian doesn’t miss, because of course he doesn’t. That ROTC may be lighter than the army but they do have some serious shit going on there.

 

Ian lowers the weapon and takes the mufflers off, presses the button and waits for the target to roll over to him. He takes it and almost shoves it in MIckey’s face. “That proof enough for you?” he asks with a nod.

 

Mickey’s looking at him for couple of seconds, knows Ian’s smugness is well deserved, before he suggests, “Two out of three? Winner buys a beer?” And honestly, even if Ian gets all the shots into the center  again it’ll be worth the humiliation. Because watching Ian shoot a gun is probably the hottest and most beautiful fucking thing Mickey had ever seen.

 

“Ok, why not?” Ian shruggs, “your own fault for being a glutton for punishment,” he crosses his arms on his chest and leans against the stall wall.

 

Mickey prepares a target, loads a gun and aims. First shot, to the center. He catches a glimpse of Ian’s face with a corner of his eye then shoots again. Second shot to the center. Third shot, center. He sees Ian walk over to him and has to take in a breath to steady his heartbeat. Because Ian is now standing just a foot length away and it’s probably the closest they’d ever been. Sure, they’d been closer in the kitchen, Mickey always accidentally on purpose brushing his arm or leg against Ian’s. But that’s just because the kitchen is too small and with everyone else always running left and right their touches are inevitable. He closes his eyes for a second and then opens them, exhales and aims. But before he can pull the trigger he feels a rush of hot air hit back of his neck.

 

“The fuck you doin’?” he snaps, but remains in his position. Doesn’t put the gun down, doesn’t turn around.

 

Ian pulls the mufflers an inch away from Mickey’s right ear and says “I’m distracting you to miss a shot, like in the movies,” Ian’s breath is hot against Mickey’s ear and it sends shivers all the way to his toes. He turns around and raises his eyebrows in explanation. “Don’t tell me you never watched knight movies?” Ian baffles. When Mickey doesn’t says anything back Ian continues “Man, what the hell? King Arthur, sir Lancelot, knights of a round table? No?” With still no reaction from the man in front of him Ian raises his eyebrows in wonder “Ok, tell me at least that you’ve heard about Robin Hood!”

 

“‘Course I’ve heard of Robin freakin’ Hood, Jesus,” Mickey rolls his eyes, “he ain’t no knight though. Don’t he live in the woods with his merry men or something?” he laughs, resisting the urge to  air quote the word ‘merry’.

 

“Fuck you, he’s noble. Plus he steals from the rich in order to give to the poor. He’s a badass,” Ian replies.

 

“Well badass or not, still don’t know what’s he got to do with you blowing in my ear,” Mickey shakes his head and turns back to the target.

 

“Well it just so happens that when he’s holding an arrow trying to shoot it into the tree maid Marion blows softly into his ear and makes him miss his aim,” Ian explains.

 

“Ok, so if I’m Robin Hood, that would make you… what? A pussy, that’s what,” Mickey laughs and resumes his practice. He aims to the target and prepares to fire.

 

“You’re an idiot, you know that?’” Ian says, sounding somewhat affronted.

 

“Yeah, an idiot that’s gonna get a free beer,” Mickey retorts and fires. His aim is perfect, it goes straight to the center again, no surprise there, but before he can shoot again Ian is behind him and Mickey feels another puff of his breath on his neck. Except this time he decides to stop it regardless of how good it feels to have Ian this close with his scent filling Mickey’s nostrils. Because if Ian does that shit again Mickey is not sure if he would be able to control himself.

 

He takes off his mufflers and turns to Ian abruptly. “Do that again and I’ll kick your fuckin’ ass,” he warns. Ian doesn’t even flinch at his words, just stands there with his green eyes on Mickey and Mickey wonders whether now is a good time to press the redhead against the wall and close this miniscule distance between them, just kiss the shit out of him. And then punch his smug expression right of his freckled face. And then kiss the shit out of him again. But all he does is he turns back around, putts on his mufflers and fires, putting the remaining four shots into the center of the paper target. He shoves it in Ian’s face and moves to stand aside.

 

He can see Ian’s surprise by the sudden anger and wonders if he was just behaving like the asshole he was in the kitchen.Ian doesn’t say anything, just fires his round of bullets and they all end up in the center. He puts the gun down and turns to Mickey. “What do you say I buy you that beer anyway, huh? Like an apology,” he asks like the past few moments between them didn’t happen. “We call it a truce.”

 

“Okay,” Mickey accepts, “but I still won though,” he retorts just because he feels like he has to make a point.

 

“Whatever you say tough guy,” Ian complies, “whatever you say.”

 

***

 

It’s two weeks later that  Ian shows up at Mickey’s. They have been working like crazy, the restaurant was busier than ever leaving them no time to hang out or at least grab a drink. They are preparing menus for a food critic that should come the following month. Maurice says he’s the best of the best and if they get a good review ‘Alfredo’s’ could go big, maybe they’ll open another one.

 

Mickey is standing in front of a canvas with a brush in one hand and the cigarette in the other. There’s an image in his head, something he dreamed about two nights ago, an idea for a painting that he wants to paint. He’s so into it that he almost misses the sound of a horn coming from somewhere close to the house. It’s probably the neighbor’s daughter’s boyfriend again, he thinks to himself. The guy comes almost every day around five in the afternoon. God knows where they spend their days, Mickey shakes his head in wonder. Someone, Mickey presumes it’s the same guy, honks the horn again, only this time louder and a second longer. Mickey is ready to tell the guy to go fuck himself but when he comes closer to the window he sees that it isn’t that guy down there. It’s Ian, sitting on a motorcycle, smiling like his face is gonna split in half. Jesus, what Mickey wouldn’t do to see Ian smile like that more often. And closer to him. That stretch of Ian’s perfect pink lips that look like they are just waiting for Mickey to run his tongue over them and then bite them. _Christ_.

 

“What the fuck is that?” he shouts as he opens the attic window.

 

“Jesus Mick, don’t tell me you’ve never seen a motorcycle before?” Ian bewilders, leaning against the bike looking so fucking beautiful, like that Marlon Brando guy, the one whose poster Mandy had on her bedroom doors. Ian looks up at him squinting  because the sun is still high enough and it’s hot as fuck.

 

“Very funny smartass,” Mickey retorts, “what I meant was, where’d you get it?”

 

Ian runs his hand over the leather seat and says, “Tony, Lisa’s brother. He’s got like, gazillion of them. Lisa says that he’s a motor freak, one of those Sons of anarchy fan or some shit.Has three garages just for his two wheeled babies,” he explains, “come check it out. It’s got Twin Cam 103 engine and a six speed Cruise Drive transmission. It’s a smooth ride baby,” Ian wiggles his eyebrows and laughs.

 

Mickey shakes his head at Ian’s lameness and his knowledge about motorcycles. He closes the window and goes down. “You’re an idiot Gallagher, you understand that, right?” he scoffs when he comes to stand next to Ian.

 

Ian simply retorts, “And then some.”

 

“So what’re you planning on doing with it? Taking it for a test ride?”

 

Ian blushes and looks down at his feet before he says “I was thinking that maybe we could, I dunno, go for a ride or something?” he shifts nervously and fumbles with small rocks on the driveway, “I mean since it’s our day off tomorrow and your birthday and all.”

 

Mickey frowns at that. How the fuck does Ian know it was his birthday tomorrow? Mickey sure as hell hasn’t said anything to anybody. Plus, he never celebrates his birthdays, he thinks he never have for that matter. Not even when he was a kid. Sandra tried to get him to at least allow her to throw him a party last year but she wasn’t successful in that. Ian must have seen his ID that time he brought him his wallet back from the restaurant.

 

But he stops and thinks about all of that  for a second and he has to admit to himself that he likes the idea of going somewhere new with Ian. And spend some time alone outside of the city noise and commotion. So all he can do is simply play along.

 

“Alright, alright… lemme change first,” he tells Ian.”Wanna wait inside?”

 

“Nah, I’m fine here, thanks,” Ian responds and leans back on the motorcycle.

“Okay, I’ll be back in five,” Mickey says and walks inside.  
  
  
  


 

“Shit man, this is good stuff,” Mickey says and holds his breath in, enjoying the sweet burn of the weed slowly filling his lungs, ”Where’d you get this shit?” he hands a blunt to Ian and the redhead takes it eagerly.

 

They are sitting underneath the tree, leaned against it, smoking weed Ian brought along. It’s peaceful and quiet here (Mickey never knew there even was a quiet place in New York, but it turns out Ian knows this part of Long Island pretty well) and he already feels inebriated by the sweet taste in his throat.

 

Ian takes a long drag and hands the blunt back to Mickey. “Tony,” he responds.

 

“What, the motor guy?” Mickey asks.

 

“Yup.”

 

“He your dealer or somethin’?” Mickey wonders.

 

“Nah,” Ian shakes his head, “he just happens to know a guy who knows a guy who knows-”

 

“Lemme guess,” Mickey cuts in, “a guy?”

 

“Nope,” Ian continues “a girl,” He looks at Mickey and bursts into laughter.

 

Mickey stills for a second at a loss of words, just looks at Ian dumbstruck,  but then closes his eyes and leans back against the tree, bursting into laughter as well. “Man, you’re high as a fucking kite,” he says puffing the smoke through his nostrils. He opens his eyes and turns to face Ian, who is lying on the grass with his arms pillowing his head.

 

“Mhmmm...” Ian murmurs and stretches his lips into a lazy smile. His eyes are closed and he looks like he might doze off any second. He seems so peaceful and just so… perfect. Mickey doesn’t think he had ever seen someone so beautiful in his life. He turns away from him before he does anything stupid, like brush that strand of hair from Ian’s forehead. _Jesus Christ_.

 

“Well, good thing we don’t have work tomorrow then,” he says getting up. Blunt’s dead so he tosses it into an empty beer can. “You ready to go back?” he asks Ian.

 

Except there’s no answer from the redhead, Mickey notices his eyes are tight shut and his breathing is shallow and shit… is he asleep? “Yo man, get the fuck up, ‘s time to roll,” he pokes him in the shoulder. “Jesus, are you fuckin’ sleepin’?” he repeats when the redhead doesn’t offer any reaction, ” Man, you fucking suck,” he lays down next to Ian, crosses his right leg over his left and tucks his arms under his head. It’s not long before he falls asleep too.  
  
  


 

The sun is rising, it’s rays dancing across Mickey’s face and he scrunches his nose and instinctively shuts his eyes tighter, the smell of freshly mowed grass are tickling his nostrils. He rubs his eyes with a thumb and forefinger and tries to get up. His back cracks as he moves and he winces at the feeling.

 

The events from last night are still vague in his memory; he knows he and Ian came here on a bike, smoked some good stuff and then Ian dozed off. Ian. He turns to his right and spots the redhead. Ian is still peacefully sleeping, his mouth slightly parted and he’s drooling like an infant. He looks so innocent, Mickey thinks. Like a child. So peaceful and serene, like he has no care in the world. It crosses Mickey’s mind how nice it would feel to wake up to that image next to you every morning.

 

He manages to get up somehow, despite the throbbing headache and a rush of weakness in his legs and fishes for a smoke from his jeans pocket. It’s not the best thing to light up a cigarette the moment you wake up, but Mickey does it anyway. His mouth is too dry as he takes a first drag and he coughs unintentionally. Jesus, these things are gonna be the death of him, no doubt about it.

 

Putting his hand over his mouth and turning away from Ian, trying his best not to wake him with his hacks, has him wonder when the fuck had he become so sensitive to other people’s needs. Wel, Ian’s needs mostly, but no one needs to know that.

 

Luckily Ian is still firmly asleep, God this man could sleep through a train wreck, and Mickey turns his gaze at him. He watches how Ian’s chest rises with every inhale and his lips puff a little cloud of air when he exhales. Watches how his hands are gently tucked behind his pale neck and his hair dances in the early morning breeze.

 

And _Christ_ , Mickey wants to snuggle beside him, feel the warmth of his body; he wants those hands hugging him around the waist and Ian’s perfect lips kiss every part of his body. And he wants, he just wants. There wasn’t a single person in his life he wanted more than he wants Ian now.

The redhead must have heard the commotion ‘cause he’s getting up, hands pressed against his temple, yawning as he does so. “Jesus, how long was I out?” he wonders, stretches his legs out and yawns again.

 

“Whole night,” Mickey replies from behind the tree where he went to take a piss. Yes, he’s that regardful.

 

“Damn, that was good stuff we had last night,” he nods, “ guess Lisa wasn’t playing when she said her brother had friends for everything.”

 

“Yeah, so um…  you ready to go?” Mickey asks tucking his shirt back into his pants.

  
“Sure, just let me go drain the lizard first.” Ian stretches and his t-shirt moves up couple of inches, revealing his perfectly toned abs and a small trail of ginger hairs ending south, down into his pants. God damn it, if that ain’t a pretty sight then Mickey wonders what is?

Yes, Mickey is appreciating the view and he’s definitely gonna make the redhead reach for whatever type of shit Mickey manages to put up on the highest shelf in the kitchen.


	6. I'm so fucked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been a while. But between my job and kids and running the house I barely have time to go to the bathroom, so to speak. I apologize to everyone and I promise I'll have the next chapter up by the end of tomorrow.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking up with me on this :) I appreciate it so so much.

The text comes in just as Mickey is about to step into the bathtub. There are only three people that know his new phone number.

 

Sandra, which is quite understandable given that she’s his wife. She doesn’t message however, she always calls. So this text is definitely not from her.

 

Then there’s Maurice, Mickey didn’t give him his number but he figures bastard had to be snooping through his employee data and retrieved the number that way. Even though he called him only once and that was just to see if he was coming to work. Which he totally was, Mickey loved working in the kitchen, it was his passion. It was just that he overslept after that long night, tired from all that had happened the previous day with Sandra’s father.

 

And Ian.

 

Come to think of it, Ian is actually the only person ever to text Mickey.

 

Mickey reaches for his phone and it turns out he was right, the text is from Ian. There are over ten emojis before the words even start and probably ten more at the end. Mickey shakes his head at the face with the stuck-out tongue and slightly closed eyes emoji and reads the letters.

 

**Happy 25th,  Mick!**

 

There are a party hat, a birthday cake and a doughnut emojis following the letters and Mickey can’t help but laugh because he never met anyone as corny as Ian before. And even though he would have beaten the shit out of anyone who tried to approach to him in that way, he finds it amusing and he must admit to himself that a small part in his chest actually loves when Ian does it.

 

He looks at the text one more time and gently runs his thumb across the screen. He closes his eyes and remembers just hours before, when he held tight onto Ian’s waist as they sped on that motorcycle, feeling Ian’s warmth under his fingertips and savouring every second of that amazingsensation.

 

He puts the phone back down on the sink and steps into the tub. The water is cold and  just about right for the moment. He aims the shower head towards his face and closes his eyes as the droplets fall on his skin.  
  
  


Mickey never appreciated birthdays much. When he thinks about it, he can safely say that he doesn’t even remember if anyone from his family ever said as much congrats to him on his birthday before. He knows for sure that he never got a cake or any type of present from anyone. It was just another meaningless day in his life, just another reminder that a year had already past and he was still in the same place, doing the same things, feeling the same way and hating himself just as much (if not even more) as he did one year ago.  


He can’t really pinpoint the exact moment when he felt something other than just a friendly connection towards Ian. From that first moment he saw him dancing at the club he felt attraction. But that was it, just a strong sexual attraction towards the guy he worked with. But as more and more time passed that feeling grew stronger with every moment  spent around Ian. Whether it was working next to him in the kitchen or shooting guns and hanging out, Mickey knew. He knew because whenever he would look at Ian he would feel those butterflies deep in his stomach and when Ian smiled at him with that beautiful lips it stirred something strange  in him, something that had gotten him worried and excited at the same time.

 

He’s so much in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice the water getting colder. He steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. His phone buzzes again and he sees there’s a new message from Ian in his inbox.

 

**Whatever you had planned for tonite, cancel it. I’m taking you out.**

 

Out? Out where? And why? Mickey wants to ask, but in the end he just replies with a simple **k ?**

 

Truth be told, he doesn’t have anything planned for this evening. With Sandra visiting her mother after a  poor lady suffered a mild heart attack, he was hoping for a quiet evening at home. Maybe some good movie and a six pack of Budweiser, sprawled out on his couch with his feet on the table and  good quality weed in his lungs.But Ian’s offer sounds tempting enough to have him wonder what kind of thing the guy had planned for him.

 

He doesn’t wonder long because Ian sends yet another text.

 

**Don’t worry about anything, just dress something nice and look pretty, that’s all you need to know.**

 

 _Look pretty_ … Does Ian think Mickey’s pretty? He doesn’t look all that bad to be honest, even though he can’t remember the last time he worked out. But his abs are still there and he’s got an okay face, at least he thinks. Jesus, when has he ever cared about his abs or his hair before? He’s turning into such a fag, honestly. He laughs at himself and shakes his head. Stop being so stupid, he tells his reflection in the mirror before he goes to the kitchen to make himself a cup of strong black coffee. God knows he needs one.

 

***

“Who’re you texting?” Lisa asks as she plops next to Ian on the couch. She often stays the night at his place, sometimes even more than a couple of days. Her home has become too boring to hang around there anymore, and she’s kinda smart so she passes her exams without so much as blinking so she actually never studies and therefore has more than enough time on her hands.

 

Ian leans away from her when she tries to sneak a peek into his phone. “No one,” he says.

 

“Mhm,” she mumbles with a mouthful of Fruit Loops, “is there something you’re not telling me? Got yourself a new squeeze?” she teases.

 

“No,” he gets up from the couch and tucks the phone into his back pocket. “And even if did, what makes you think I’d tell you?”

 

“Please, you tell me everything,” she retorts and continues crumbling those cereals with her spoon and then chewing too loud,  not paying intention to Ian’s obvious disgust at both  the sound and sight.

 

“Do you have to do that?” he scrunches his nose, “it’s disgusting.”

 

“Shut up, if I had to hear how that blonde dude, what was his name, Jerry, George? had a breath so bad that you couldn’t get hard even when he tried to suck you off, then this shouldn’t bother you.Talk about disgusting,” she retorts with a mouthful of cereals and flips him off just to emphasise her point.

 

“FYI, his name was Jake and his breath wasn’t the problem,” Ian responds sarcastically and gets up from the couch, heading for the kitchen, “it was his rugged tongue.”

 

“Hey! I’m trying to eat here!” Lisa yells.

 

“Well you asked for it,” Ian shouts and grins from his spot in the kitchen.

 

After she gives him an exasperating sigh, they stay quiet for a while, Lisa engrossed in some stupid show on TV, making faces at a guy trying to eat a worm to win a contest  and Ian just staring at the wall leaned against the fridge with a beer in his hand.

 

Lisa has been his best friend since he came to New York and she listened to so many of his shit that he sometimes even forgets what he told her. She never judged him or looked down on him and she has been more that supportive when he went through a break up over a year ago. So he figures it’s safe to tell her about her crush on Mickey.

 

He shifts a little on his feet and opens his mouth couple of times but quickly closes them, questioning his decision. Lisa must have noticed his shakiness because not a second later she turns off the TV and turns to face him. “Spill it out,”she says.

 

“What?”

 

“Whatever’s eating you, spill it out.”

 

“I want to tell you something,” he starts but is immediately cut off by Lisa’s eye-roll.

 

“No shit.”

 

“Just shut up and listen to me, alright?”, he continues, giving her a serious look. ”As I was saying, I want to tell you something but you have to promise not to laugh,okay?"

 

She puts her bowl of cereals on the coffee table and crosses her legs, leaning her elbows on her bent knees. “Okay?”

 

Ian throws the beer can in the trash and takes a deep breath.

 

“Jesus, what is it?” Lisa worries.

 

“Okay, so you remember when we were at the laundrymat and you asked me if I had a crush on Mickey?” He bites the corner of his lower lip and after she gives him an understanding nod he exhales and continues.”And remember how I said no?”

 

“Yes?” she furrows her brows in confusion.

 

He keeps looking at her for couple of seconds before speaking again.”Well, it turns out I did. I do, I mean,” he corrects himself.

 

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” she squeals and claps her hands smugly. “I knew you were full of shit.”

 

“Jesus,” Ian exhales, “will you just shut up and listen to me? I really have to tell you this.”

 

“Okay,” she brings her right hand to his lips and makes a movement like she’s locking them before urging him to continue.”I’m quiet, go on.”

 

He rolls his eyes at her and shakes his head before speaking again. “Anyway, I think I’m falling for him. I think I’m falling for him real bad,” he says through a sarcastic laughter.

 

Lisa gets up from the couch and lowers herself on the floor next to him.”Jesus Ian, why do you do this to yourself, huh?” she asks quietly. “Is it because he’s from your neighborhood? He makes you feel closer to home or some shit like that?”

 

Ian hunches his shoulders and runs a frustrating hand across his face. “No… I don’t know. It’s just...” he brings his knees closer to his chest like he is scared and gives her a gentle look.

 

“Damn it Ian, why do you always fall for a wrong guy?” she takes his hand and squeezes it tight. “You know nothing good will come out of this, right? I mean, he’s straight. And married. And your boss.”

 

“Duh,” he makes a face and leans on her shoulder. Sighing, he closes his eyes and squeezes her hand tighter. “I’m so fucked,” he whispers. And he would understand if this was the first time this had happened to him. But being a stupid, romantic idiot it didn’t take much for him to fall in love. “This is David all over again, isn’t it?” he asks.

 

“Shut up, this is nothing like David,” Lisa says giving him an annoying eye-roll and lets go of his hand. She gets up and opens the fridge, pulling out two beer bottles and offers one to Ian. He takes a sip and bangs his head on the wall couple of times.

 

“Look,” Lisa starts. “You and I both know what happened with David and this is nothing like him, ok? This is fucking worse,” she gulps down her beer and continues. “At least David was gay and you were happy. Granted, it didn’t last long but still… This is like, million times worse, mostly because Mickey is straight and married and hooking up with him would be more than impossible,” she states and puts the bottle on the counter.

 

“Jesus, like I don’t know that myself… But it’s kinda weird, y’know? I got this vibe from him like he could be at least bi, I dunno. Plus, being around him at work when all I wanna do is touch him is the worst. Jesus, I’m so fucked,” Ian pulls his hair in frustration and grunts loudly. “He’s got a beautiful smile, y’know?” he continues. “And his eyes are so fucking blue, I can see the ocean and the sky in them and it’s fucking amazing. And that neck of his,” he closes his eyes and smiles. “I bet his skin is soft as hell, and  I just want to kiss it...

 

“Ian-” Lisa tries interrupting but he doesn’t even hear it.

 

“And he smells so nice, and not like perfume and shit, it’s like cigarettes and sweat one moment but lime or some other kind of citrus or whatever the fuck next. It’s intoxicating."

 

“Ian-”

 

“And his hair… Oh my god his hair. So dark, and so perfectly styled and my hand would fit there like that’s where it belongs-”

 

“IAN!” Lisa yells, startling him from his haze. “Jesus, this is not just a crush, is it?”

 

And the thing is, Ian knows she’s right. Never in his life had he felt the way he does when he’s with Mickey. When they share a smoke on their break, sitting on the ground leaned against the restaurant wall in the alley behind it, all Ian does is secretly glance at the man next to him. The way Mickey’s lip twitches in that sexy as fuck way, making Ian’s heart skip couple of beats. Ian has seen enough hot guys to last him a lifetime but none of them was more beautiful and hotter than his boss. The contrast of Mickey’s dark hair against his pale skin is something Ian never even knew looked sexy on a guy.

 

“I don’t know Lisa, I don’t know,” Ian sighs and gives her a pleading look. “All I know is that I’m totally FUCKED!”

 

She puts her comforting arms around him and gives him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “It’s okay,” she whispers, holding him tight. “You’ll be okay, we’ll get you through this alright?”

 

He nods and holds on to her waist tight, knowing she wants what’s best for him. But Ian doesn’t think it’ll get better. He doesn’t think he’ll get over Mickey any time soon.

 

***

 

To say Mickey is surprised when he sees that the club Ian is taking him to is the same place he first noticed the redhead, would be an understatement.

First of all, Ian is _not_ taking Mickey anywhere. This is by any means _not a date_. Eventhough Mickey finds that he wouldn’t actually mind going on one with Ian in a near future.

And second of all, why the fuck did Ian bring him here of all places? It’s a gay club for fuck’s sake and as far as Ian is concerned, Mickey is straight.

 

That thought is however immediately followed by another one. Ian on the dance floor. Now that’s a sight he wouldn’t mind seeing again. And again. _Jesus_ , he’s gotta get a hold of himself.

 

“You ok?” Ian asks just as they are about to move down the line. They are standing outside of the ‘Eagle’, sweating their nuts off, waiting for a big Hulk-looking black guy to move the chain from where it’s blocking the entrance and let them in.

 

“Nothing, it’s just...” Mickey pauses and runs his thumb over the corner of his mouth. “Where did the idea to take me to a gay club come from?” he asks.

 

Ian shuffles awkwardly with his hands tucked in his back pockets and his shoulder slightly raised. He’s embarrassed, he looks like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar after mom told him not to touch it before dinner.

 

“I don’t know actually,” Ian starts,  “I wanted to take you somewhere nice, y’know? Somewhere you can relax and let loose,” he shruggs. “Take your mind off of work for a day.”

 

Mickey looks at him understandingly and nods. “Alright, that’s a good reason as any I suppose,” he says. The chain is moved and they nod the bouncer in thanks as they enter the club.

 

Once they are seated at the bar Ian orders them both a beer and soon they settle into a conversation that is rather pleasant as far as Mickey’s concerned. They talk about random stuff, even though Mickey didn’t think they had any topics left. But Ian mentions something from  when he was a kid, something about when he was 10 how his mom woke  him and his siblings in the middle of the night so they could all watch some shitty horror movie and how Ian had felt like for once they were a real normal family.

 

No his mother’s bipolar disorder, no his dad’s drinking problem, him and his siblings laughing and covering their eyes with their small hands, peaking from between the opened fingers when a scary scene would come up.

 

Mickey is looking at the man next to him and imagining a scrawni kid with stupidly long red bangs falling over his forehead, wide grin spread across his freckled face and those white pearls behind Ian’s perfect pink lips. _Jesus_ , what Mickey wouldn’t give to have known that kid back then, he probably would have ended up having the time of his life.

 

An hour or so into their Southside childhood reminiscings Mickey finds that he doesn’t mind this whole _Ian taking him out_ thing. And even though there are drinks involved and they are laughing and talking, enjoying each other’s company, Mickey keeps telling himself that this is not a date. But he can’t seem to take his eyes off of Ian. Ian’s talking and Mickey leans against the bar on his elbows and just watches. Wathches Ian’s lips move, his hands gesture whatever he’s explaining at the  moment; watches how every now and then when Ian shifts in his seat, his legs spread slightly and his whole body moves as he changes his seating positions. And it hits him.

 

He’s falling in love with Ian Gallagher.

 

And it freaks him the fuck out.. Mostly because he promised himself never to fall for anyone. Ever. After all, love never brought anyone any good. At least anyone he knows. Besides, he isn’t even sure he knows much about love to begin with. God knows he never had the opportunity to witness it in his home. All the guys he’d been with so far were just there to get him off fast and never stayed long enough to give themselves  or him a chance to maybe develop it into something more. Maybe it’s him, or maybe it was the fact that none of those fucks were worthy enough for him to stick around more than once.

 

But something inside him tells him that if there is a guy he wouldn’t mind sticking around for it would definitely be the redhead sitting on the stool next to him.

 

He shakes his thoughts away and excuses himself before he blurts out something stupid like how he likes Ian’s smile. _Jesus._ He gets up and heads for the bathrooms, leaving Ian alone at the bar.

 

But when Mickey comes back he finds that Gallagher is not where he left him. Quick scoop around the place tells him that Ian must have gone to one of the bathroom upstairs. That is before his eyes land on the dancefloor where the said redhead is swaying in the rhythm of the music with some brawny ass dude pressed tightly behind him, grinding his crotch against Ian’s ass.

 

Mickey can’t help but feel a sting of jelaousy hitting his chest and he wonders why the fuck is he having these feelings. It’s not like they’re a couple or anything. Gallagher is perfectly allowed to do whatever he wants, whoever he wants it with. It shouldn’t  bother Mickey the slightest. But it does. A lot. But he keeps telling himself that the reason in fact isn’t jelaousy but the fact that Ian’s simply being rude. Taking Mickey out and then going to get his ass felt by another dude is just inapropriate.

 

Ian’s lips part as his arms reach behind to grip  blondie’s hips. His brows furrow and he sticks his ass out some more, and blondie brings his hands to Ian’s stomach, slowly pushing his t-shirt up, revealing ian’s strong abs. Jesus, Mickey knew the guy is hot but to be hot enough to make Mickey’s dick twich from just looking at him move? _Christ._

 

Whe Ian’s tongue darts out of those perfect lips of his, Mickey can’t stop himself from unconciously licking the corner of his own lips. God, he wants to use his tongue to lick every inch of Gallagher’s toned body.

 

And he knows exactly how he’d do it.

 

He’d start with those plump lips and slowly work his way down those tight abs, maybe circle around Ian’s nipples first before he’d use his teeth to scrape them over the peaked things.  He wouldn’t stop there. No way. Not if Ian would squirm  and writh underneath him, begging him to take him into his mouth. And Mickey would tease him some more; he’d play with Ian’s dick like they have all the time in the world.

 

Mickey doesn’t have a lot of experience when it comes to sucking dicks, he never found it particulary  neccesary. But he just knows he would enjoy sucking Ian off. And from what he’d been told by those few guys he’d blown and how they’d gasped and shivered under his lips, he knows for sure  Ian would enjoy it too. Jesus, he wants to suck Ian’s dick so bad right now, it’s not even funny.

 

And when ian would come down his throat Mickey would swallow and lick him  clean, there wouldn’t be a single drop of his jizz left.

 

He’s so ingrossed in those stupid thoughts invading his brain that he doesn’t notice the tall black-haired guy creeping behind him.

 

“Wanna dance?” the guy asks in a low raspy voice  as he presses slightly against his back and puts a hand on Mickey’s shoulder, making Mickey jump and abruptly turn around to face the fucker.

 

“Fuck off, I don’t dance,” he retorts, shaking the guy’s hand off his shoulder. But it doesn’t seem to work because the guy’s grip just tightens some more. Mickey flares his nostrils and raises his eyebrows in frustration.

 

“C’mon, why you gotta be like that, huh?” the guy smirks and nods towards the dancefloor. “Besides, looks like your boy there might be busy  for awhile. Enough for me to give you a quick one in the alley. No point in you being left hanging."

 

Mickey balls his hands into fists and is close to deck that smug smirk off that fucker’s face. But then he remembers where he is and that Ian is with him and he puts whatever thought he had about bashing the guy’s skull in away and turns from him heading for the exit. He never needed a smoke like he does now.

 

He can hear the dissaproving grunts but doesn’t spare the guy a glance over his shoulder. He walks out, lights up and leans against the wall, banging his head on it couple of time, just to clear his mind from all them girly thoughts.  


He doesn’t get to finish his smoke because  Ian appears in front if him out of nowhere. There are small sweat beads dancing on the side of his forehead, his eyes are watery and red and he’s breathing fast.

 

Mickey thinks he’s gorgeous.

 

“I figured you’d be here having a smoke,” Ian says and leans on the wall next to the brunet.

 

“Too fucking hot in there anyway,” Mickey lies and takes a drag before offering Ian a smoke. Ian shakes his head “No, thanks,” Ian offers “feeling kinda sick from all the beer we had. Besides, my throat kinda hurts,” he coughs quietly and Mickey nods in recognition.

 

“Could be getting down with something there,” he says.

 

“Yeah, I guess all that hot air inside and me breathing through my mouth on that bike ride yesterday could take it’s toll.”

 

“Guess,” is all Mickey says and stubbs the cigarette with his shoe. he pushes himself off the wall and kicks a small rock with his right foot. Ian seems to notice the sudden change in Mickey’s behaviour. He puts his hand on Mickey’s houlder. Jesus, his movement is so gentle and featherlike but Mickey feels it in his bones.

 

“You ok?” Ian asks.

 

“Yeah man,” Mickey says.

 

“Wanna go back inside…?”

 

“Nah, I think I’m gonna call it a night. Get some more rest before tomorrow.” Mickey says and closes his eyes for a brief second as Ian’s hand rubs gently on his bicep. “You wanna stay some more?”

 

“I dunno, maybe I should go too. Don’t feel like being alone in there, y’know?"

 

Mickey thinks about blondie and his hands on Ian’s hips and under Ian’s shirt. “Looked like you were having a good time in there,” he nods towards the club. “with that guy, I mean.”

 

Ian moves his hand away from Mickey’s shoulder and shrugs. “Not really, he’ s a creep actually, I’m having more fun here with you,” he says and looks Mickey dead in the eye.

 

And Jesus Christ, Ian can not be saying shit like that to him. Not when all Mickey wants is to take Ian home and lock them both in his bedroom until they’re too tired to move. Just place him on his bed and fuck the shit out of him. And when they catch their breaths, fuck him some more.

 

He knows that if he stays a minute longer he might do something they’d both regret and Mickey really doesn’t want to lose his best friend over something that stupid. That is why he says “Ok, I think I’m gonna get going, I see you at work tomorrow, alright?”

 

Ian is looking at him with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Mickey walks away and gives Ian a one finger salute. “Later, Gallagher.”

 

But as soon as his back is turned to him, Ian walks up to face him. He brings himself closer and suddenly Mickey feels his warm lips on the left side of his face. He wants to jerk away from whatever Ian is doing but his feet are frozen at the spot and he can’t for the love of him move a single muscle in his body. Because Ian is kissing his cheek so gently and so softly that Mickey can’t do anything but close his eyes and savour every milisecond of that kiss.

 

And just as sudden as it began, the kiss ends and Ian pulls back with a smile on his face.

 

“What was that for?” Mickey asks once he regains his senses.

 

“I just realized I haven’t wished you a happy birthday, that’s all,” Ian responds and goddamnit, that smile of his gets straight to Mickey’s heart. “So, happy birthday.”

 

Mickey looks at him incredulously but manages to say _thanks_ and smile in return.

 

“So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Ian asks.

 

“Yeah, tomorrow, right,” Mickey says back and tucks his hands into his pockets, slowly moving away. He stops just as Ian is entering the club and yells. “Ay Gallagher!”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thanks, y’know, for this and...”

  
“Sure,” Ian smiles and nods and Mickey’s watching him enter the club. He hates himself for not being brave enough and not having the balls to take Ian and slam him against that wall, kiss the fuck out of him. Instead he bows his head down and tries hard not to think about Ian taking that blonde guy home.


	7. shame is a wasted emotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh God! I know, I'm trash... I'm a lying little shit that promised you an update a week ago. I got this thing called "life" that keeps making me work overtime, damnit. Anyway,. don't hate me and enjoy this short one.

 

It's almost five p.m. and Ian is still not in his workplace.

Mickey knows Ian's always in the kitchen before anyone else, so this is definitely something to worry about. They haven't texted each other since their date last night but Mickey is really considering calling him or at least send him a text and ask him where the fuck is he, but he decides against it after all.

He is about to button up his shirt when Maurice strolls in. „You're a man short tonight, Michael,“ he says. Mickey knows what he means but plays it casual.

„What do you mean?“ he asks.

„The redhead, he called in sick an hour ago. Something about having a fever or a flu or whatever. Point is, he's not coming so you'll have to manage without him.“

Mickey shruggs his shoulder, his movement meaning to be indiferent, like _what the hell, we'll manage,_ but he can't help the feeling of worry forming deep inside his chest.

 

The evening is busy, lot's of orders, especially for complicated dishes and fuck, Mickey knows he's supposed to be calm and relaxed in order to pull through. But he isn't. He yells and swears, throws a  plate with Osso buco off the counter because the girl, whose name he still doesn't remember eventhough she's worked with him for six months now, puts a clove of garlic instead of  mincing it.

And it would be easy to just replace it, a three seconds worth of time, but he's mad and angry and feels empty without Ian here. So he's pissed at Ian for being sick, and he's pissed at himself for letting some dumb kid with bright eyes and beautiful smile and stupid freckled face fuck up his whole existence. And his fingers are itching, he has to keep them busy, so he chops onions and slices carrots and does whatever he can think of just to not let his hands be free, because he knows he will call him, he just knows it.

Or maybe he _should_ call him, just to hear his voice, because his goddamn voice is so soothing and makes Mickey feel so... Well it makes him _feel_. And Mickey doesn't like that. Doesn't like the fact that he needs someone in his life and he realises that for the first time he actually _wants_ someone in his life. But he can't, he can't have Ian the way he wants him.

So he settles for being his friend instead. At least that way he gets to be close to him, even if they don't do anything other than sit leaned against the wall and share a smoke in absolute silence.

And he throws chopped onions into the sink and tells everyone to go fuck themselves, and storms to the back alley, sits on Ian's usual spot and reaches into his pocket for a cigarette, shuts himself from everything.

He closes his eyes and thinks about Ian. The way Ian's eyes light up everytime he sees Mickey enter the kitchen, and how his shirt pulls up a bit whenever he's trying to reach for something from the highest shelf and Mickey licks his lips appreciatevely at the sight of his perfect toned body. And when they hang out at the park, how Ian gets embarrased when Mickey catches him checking up  hot joggers.

He doesn't know how long he's sitting there like that, but when Maurice comes to stand in front of him and starts running his mouth, words like _fired_ and _lose your job_ come out of him,  Mickey knows he has to keep it together and go do that one thing he's good at.

So he goes back in, finishes his shift, gets the praise like every other night and leaves the minute clock ticks one without saying as much as goodnight to anyone. He decides to call Ian in the morning, just to see how he's doing, there's nothing weird about that, Ian is his friend. And that's what friends do, they call when one of them is sick, and they visit each other.

And maybe he'll make him some chicken soup. Yeah, he's gonna make him his famous chicken soup. First thing tomorrow.

***

He's standing in front of Ian's apartment building holding a plastic bag with a bowl of soup in it. It's eight thirty in the morning and he's tired as hell, he only had about five hours of sleep. He woke up before seven to make the soup, he wanted it to be fresh and warm.

He's reluctant, just standing there in front of the apartment door pondering whether he should ring it or just turn around and take the soup and his stupid ass back home to bed. The staying part prevails and before he knows it, he's ringing the bell, waiting for the door to open, feeling like a girl scout that doesn't know if someone behind them is gonna buy her cookies or just close them in her face.

Luckily for Mickey the door opens revealing a young skinny girl, her hair ruffled and she's wearing a t-shirt that's looks way to long on her and could easily pass as a dress. Or maybe it is a dress because, not that he looked, it was just there in front of him, apparently she doesn't have any underwear on. But then again it may be that she's wearing a thong, he knows what those are, he's seen it in Sandra's laundry basket. And if this girl had a pierced nose and black hair she would look exactly like his sister. And thinking about his sister he makes a mental note to call her. Or text her at least.

After he feeds Ian some soup. Because that's his priority now.

He recognizes the girl, it's Ian's friend, Lisa is her name he thinks. She yawns and after she had rubbed the sleep out of her eyes only then she recognizes Mickey. She opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out, she's just staring at him with a confusing look on her face. That leaves him no choice but to speak first.

„Um hi, I'm here to see Ian. He hasn't come to work yesterday,“ he says and waits for her to say something, to invite him or slam the door in his face. Something, anything. But she just stares for couple of more seconds and when Ian coughs she shakes her head so suddenly, like she's just woken up from a bad dream and mumbles.

„Yeah sure, come in.“

Ian is sprawled on the living room couch watching TV. He's wrapped up in, what Mickey can see, two blankets and his nose is running. It must be the fever. Ian sees Mickey and tries to compose somewhat of a smile but ends up coughing his lungs out. Lisa is by his side in no time, wetting his forehead with a damp cloth and holding a glass of water with a straw in it in front of his mouth, nudging him to drink it.

„So you're just gonna stand there?“ she nods in Mickey's direction, with her hand behind Ian's neck, helping him drink the fluid. Mickey is looking at Ian and thinks about the irony of it all. How could someone as worn-out and tired and sniffy as Ian look so damn beautiful at the same time?

That's why he doesn't even register  Lisa  speaking to him untill he sees her waving her hand in front of his face.

"I um... I brought some chicken soup. It's still warm, thought it could help, y'know?" he says quietly staring awkwardly at the floor.

"Sure, he'd love some. He hasn't touched anything since yesterday morning," she walks over to Mickey and takes the bag from his hands. "Mmmm, smells heavenly. You made it yourself?

He nods and moves a step closer to the couch.

 "You want some coffee?" Lisa offers from the kitchen. He sees her taking the spoon out of the cupboard and  he nods when she turns to him. She walks back to the living room holding a bowl of soup in one hand and Mickey's coffee in the other. She puts them on the table and lowers herself on the couch.

"So he's been like this since yesterday morning you say?" he asks trying his best not to look at her because she's now sitting next to Ian with her legs tucked under her left knee and ok, at least she's wearing underwear. But she's still staring at him, probably wondering why he's even here. After all, she had never seen him in Ian's apartment before. He's never been to his place before today.

There was one time Ian asked him to come over so they could hang out but he excused himself because he knew he wouldn't be able to control himself around Ian. Especially since there was a promise of beer and weed, not to mention it was night time.

"Would you mind watching him for couple of minutes while I go home and change?" she asks after a brief moment. "I've been here since yesterday. I slept here last night in these clothes and I kinda stink," she makes a face but it quickly dispades because she must have noticed the way Mickey tenses when she says the words last night.

So she hurries to correct herself. „You know how it is, his family isn't here, he doesn't have anyone here but well, me,“ she shruggs and continues „So you good for watching him? I live just down the street, I'll be back in 15 minutes, half an hour tops.“

„Um yeah, sure. Just... what do I do if he like, coughs or something?“ he asks, seeing Lisa's already putting on what he knows is Ian's hoodie. It shouldn't bother him the slightest but seeing something of Ian's on her or on anyone but Ian for that matter is like a stab to the chest.

Lisa grabs her backpack and hurries out of the apartment closing the door behind her, leaving Mickey standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room.

Ian dozed off in the meantime because he's sleeping now, his lips slightly parted and litle sweat beads on his forehead trailing down his neck and he looks so peaceful. Mickey wonders if he will ever look this peaceful himself.

With not much to do now Ian is asleep, Mickey sits himself on the couch and takes a sip of coffee Lisa made. There's Pawn shop reruns on and he leans back with a mug in his hands, watching some girl bring in an Elvis suit to sell.

He's sitting next to Ian for ten minutes enjoying the show when Ian starts shivering and mumbling words that are completely unrecognizable to Mickey and Mickey inhales sharply, not knowing what to do. He was never in a situation to have to take care of someone before. Sure, there were plenty of times when Mandy was hurt or sick but she was, much like him, too proud to accept anyone's help.

He suddenly remembers how Lisa wiped Ian's forehead with a cloth , so he soaks it up good and presses it on Ian's forehead. And it seems to be working because Ian stops shaking and opens his eyes slowly.

„Hey,“ he says when he sees Mickey leaned over him. „...mmm, that's nice.“

„What is?“ Mickey wonders.

„The way you do that.“ He closes his eyes again and tilts his head back a little , and Mickey watches his neck and how Ian's Adam's apple bobs everytime he tries to swallow. His throat must be sore because he seems to have trouble swallowing. And this is the worst moment for Mickey to have these kind of thoughts but he can't keep his gaze off of Ian's neck. He feels a strange sensation, a warmth in the pit of his stomach tingling through his entire body.

And Jesus fucking christ he's getting hard In his pants. _What the everloving fuck_?! How the hell can he be hard from looking at another person's neck? A neck, really? He's starting to feel tiny trails of sweat on his palms and good thing he's holding that damp cloth in his hands. He presses it quickly to his face, just to hide the blush he knows he's having.

„You friend said you haven't touched your food since yesterday,“ he says once he gets a tiny bit of composure. „You gotta eat man. I made you some chicken soup, want me to get it, it's light and it'll do you good.“

Ian opens his eyes and Mickey damps the cloth quickly back into the bowl on the coffee table next to the couch.

„Not hungry,“ Ian says, turning his head towards the kitchen. „Where's Lisa?“ he asks.

„Went to get some change of clothes while I'm here. She says she's been here all night by your side.“

„Yeah,“ Ian says, prompting himself to sit upright. „She's a good friend. It helps having someone like her when you're all alone in the big city, y'know?“

There's a moment of silence after Mickey nodds in agreement, stretching on, while the two men look at each other.

There are couple of loose strands slicked with sweat on Ian's forehead and Mickey lifts his right hand and reaches towards the man in front of him. Ian straightens up, and is now looking at Mickey's hand getting closer to his face, and Mickey notices him looking at his lips.

Mickey can see how Ian's eyes are practically glued to them and without realising what the hell he's doing he inches a bit closer to Ian. Ian closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath, parting his lips slowly, Mickey can hear him breathe.

Mickey's own heart is threatening to jump out of his chest, it's beating so fast he can feel it's thuds in his ears. Their faces are not more than couple of inches apart and Ian opens his eyes and it's like he isn't a tiny bit surprised to find Mickey so close to him. He tilts his head and licks his upper lip and just as his lips were about to connect with Mickey's the apartment door opens and Lisa stumbles in, carrying a small black suitcase.

She stops once she sees them and freezes on the spot. There is a deadly silence for couple of breaths and next thing they know, Mickey is off that couch passing Lisa by as he storms out the door.

"Jesus Ian, what the fuck? Was was going on here just now?  Was he trying to like, kiss you?" Lisa says closing the door behind Mickey. She lowers her suitcase on the hallway floor and comes to stand next to the couch, immediately putting her palm on Ian's sweaty forehead checking him for a possible fever.

"Fuck Lisa, your timing suck, as usual," he throws himself down, his head hitting the pillow hard. He yelps from the throbbing behind his forehead and lets out a long, loud _fuck_.

 

***

"Is it the guy with red hair?" Mickey hears once he enters the house, slamming the door as he does so. Sandra is sitting on the living room chair with her right leg crossed over her left one slowly swaying , smoking a cigarette and drinking what appears to be whiskey. 

"The fuck are you talking about?" he shoots a glare in her direction.

"The guy with the red hair. What's his name." she repeats.

"What about him?" Mickey questions, raising his eyebrows. He leans against the wall with one hand and takes off his shoes. 

"Oh nothing, i was just wondering whether he's the reason you are so cheerful and happy all of a sudden."

"Fuck off, I'm not happy," Mickey spits and takes the keys out of his front jeans pocket. He puts them on a hanger on the wall and stripes out of his shirt, hanging it next to his keys.

"Well," Sandra stands up and puts the cigarette in the ashtray but holds on to her now empty glass. ""...isn't that something every wife wants to hear from her husband," she says sarcastically and moves to the corner table with crystal bottles on it, every one of them containing diferent kind of alcohol. She refills her glass and with a nod asks Mickey if he wants some. He nods in return and she hands him the liquor before settling herself back on the chair. Mickey empties his glass in one go and lights up a smoke.

"You don't know nothing about it," he says flatly, exhaling  small circles out of smoke. He sits himself on the couch and leans his head against the back of it. 

"I know everything about it. And god damn it, don't be an asshole Mickey, I'm not making fun of you, I just want to know if that-" she snaps her fingers in front of her face and nods at Mickey, him knowing what she's silently asking.

"Ian," he says gently.

"Right, that Ian guy is the reason for your happiness. And it's totaly ok if you fell for him, you know I would give you a divorce if you asked. I mean, now the bastard's dead there's no point of us staying in this sham of a marriage anymore, is there?"she says sounding sincere.

"Ok, first of all I didn't _fall_ for him or anything," he explains, airquoting the word _fall_. "We are just friends."

"Come on Mickey, who are you trying to fool? I've seen a smile on your face when you wake up in the morning and I'm pretty sure it's got all to do with Ian," she says firmly.

He doesn't say anything back, he isn't sure if there even is a reason to dispute that claim. So he gets up from the couch and heads into his part of the house, leaving Sandra to nurture her whiskey alone.

 

Later that night, after he showers and lays in bed, hethinks. Sandra is right. He _is_ happy. Well, happier than he was before Ian became a part of his life. And in some other universe where he wasn't a coward, maybe he and Ian could be happy together. Maybe they could rent an apartment, like with the small kitchen where Mickey could teach Ian how to like,  flip a pancake or something. Maybe show him some of his own recipes Mickey's been working on for the past year. Who knows, Maybe Mickey would wake Ian up with a lazy blowjob and then aftre Ian would return the favor, because of course he would, they would shower and soap each other, maybe fuck against the tiles. And Mickey would eventually buy some old restaurant and with the help of ian made it into a number one place with the best food on the planet.

Because Mickey and Ian would be the best tem there is. So they would make enough money to be able to go to vacations. Mickey always wanted to go to France, visit their famous culinary school. And maybe he could finally find out why they call Paris the city of love.

He falls asleep that night with the image of Ian in front of the Eiffel tower with one of those stupid french hats, what are they called - berets? on his red hair and the most beautiful smile on his face.

 

***

  

Two days later and Ian is back at work. Neither him or Mickey called each other after that litle incident in Ian's apartment. Mickey figured Ian would maybe forget about it, maybe think it was his fevermind imaginig things.

And Ian figured maybe Mickey was just being sympathetic, maybe it wasn't the fact that there had been something going on between them these past few days. The spark in Mickey's eyes and the small soft smiles he would give him when he thought Ian wasn't lookin told a diferent story from what Mickey gave him. And Ian so wanted it to be true, he so desperately wanted Mickey, wanted to touch him, wanted to kiss him, trail his tounge down Mickey's soft pale neck, run his hands over Mickey's strong chest and arms. But he knew it was just his wishful thinking. Mickey was never going to be his. At least not in the way Ian wants him to.

 

  
When Ian enters the kitchen Mickey is already stirring something, standing at the stove. Everyone else is busy too but they all turn to greet him, ask him if he feels better. Except Mickey, who doesn't even spare a glance, just keeps looking at the bowl in front of him.

  
"So..." Ian says clapping his hands "what are we making tonight?". He looks at Jenna and with a corner of his eye catches a glimpse of Mickey, still very interested in the content of a bowl in front.

  
"Two Ceaser's salads, six times Beef Wellington, one pinneapple pizza..." Jenna informs him and just like that everyone falls back in the routine.

  
By the end of the evening Mickey is silent, which is pretty strange considering he was yelling at them droping the dishes for the past two days. He still doesn't want to look at Ian, not even when Ian asks him how many pinches of saffron should he put in  Risotto milanese. He just shruges his shoulders and mutters a "whatever".

  
They finish around midnight, it's not too busy and everyone is happy they get to go home a bit earlier than usual. Jenna asks Ian if he would like to go with her and have a drink maybe, but he politely excuses himself saying he's still tired from the fever and all. She srugs and waves him goodbye. She's got a thing for him and he knows it. But he still hasn't said to her or anyone for that matter that he's gay. Only Mickey knows it and he found out by pure accident. It's not like Ian is ashamed of the fact that he likes men. He is still Ian, gay or straight, he still loves his family and friends, he still loves to shoot a gun and run six miles every morning.Still is that same honest, smart and kind guy he was before he became aware of his sexuality. But sometimes he wonders whether it would be easier if he wasn't what he was. Some people still have issues with homosexuality and he doesn't want to be judged because of it.

 

He's standing in front of his locker, buttoning his shirt when he hears footsteps behind him. He thinks it is probably Maurice forgeting something, eventhough he saw him leave fifteen minutes ago with the others. But then he sees it's Mickey, wiping his face with a towel before going to his own locker to change from his work clothes. He looks at Ian briefly before hiding his head behind the locker door.

  
It's another minute or so in silence, both of them standing couple of feets away from each other, rummaging through their stuff, not really searching for anything, just standing there, avoiding eachother's eyes, one hoping the other would turn around and leave first. Ian just can't take the suspension anymore so he decides to speak first.

  
"Are we gonna talk about it?" he asks while neatly folding his work shirt, his head still in the locker. He hears Mickey sigh.

"Ther's nothing to talk about."

  
"I think there is, giving the fact that you almost kissed me." Ian appears from behind the locker door and slams it as loud as he can. "How about that, huh?'"

  
"You're delusional Gallagher. You're sure your fever's over?" Mickey mocks and turns away from Ian's gaze.

"Really Mick? I'm delusional. Alright then," he nods to himself and shoves his dirty work clothes into his backpack. He zips it and swings  over his shoulder, looks at Mickey one more time before starting to make his exit. "I guess I see you tomorrow or whatever," he shruggs and reaches for the doorknob when he feels a sudden pressure behind his back.

There's heat radiating off of a body behind him and Ian can feel hot breath on the back of his neck. 

"Why do you have to be so fucking hot all the time?" he hears Mickey whisper in his ear. It sends shivers down his entire body and just the sound of Mickey's voice so husky and shaky sends all the blood from Ian's brain rushing down , filling his pants.

Before he can even begin to grasp the situation happening to him here in the kitchen he's being turned around and pinned against the kitchen door.

"Every guy in that club wanted to fuck you," Mickey's breath picks up speed and he's looking at Ian, deep into his eyes like he was searching for something very important in them. 

He grabs Ian's wrists in attempt to pin them against the wall but Ian moves quicker and in a heartbeat he is dropping his backpack on the floor and sliding his hands on the side of  Mickey's body. It burns Mickey, Ian's touch so hot and needy against his skin.

"I don't give a shit about other guys," he assures Mickey when the brunet raises his eyebrow in question. Ian inches closer to Mickey, their faces mere thumb lenght away, and says "There's only one guy i dream about fucking," before leaning his head down a bit and licking at Mickey's lower lip.

And when Mickey parts his lips and welcomes Ian in, all the doubts and fears seem to dissapear into thin air because at this moment Mickey is kissing him like there's no tomorrow. 

 

 


	8. Things you do to me...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I was thinking maybe we could... um... go out? Like on a date?' Ian says, voice close to a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. I've promised you this a lifetime ago. And I have no excuse other than I suck. Bigtime. Plus, some things have happened in my personal life that added to this delay, so I hope you understand. Four kids, two jobs, a house... And it's summer so we're going to beach almost every day. Anywho, I hope you forgive me and I'll do my best not to disappoint you guys again.
> 
> This is for my girl Nat.

Years ago, while Ian was slowly becoming more and more aware of his sexuality, he would often lay in bed at night wondering what it would feel like to have a strong muscular body pressed against his own. He imagined plump lips kissing him, his tongue exploring someone else's mouth, tasting the sweetness inside.

So when he had his first hook up he was beyond excited. But as it turned out, it was a complete and utter bust. The guy was sloppy, messy and his tongue was more around Ian's mouth than it was actually in them. Granted, they were both only fourteen and new to all of this but it was still a big disappointment for Ian. Couple of hook ups later that Ian thought the experience would improve. But with every new guy he was faced with a new disillusionment. So he gave up and kissed guys only if he had to, if they specifically asked for it or if he was too drunk to know what he was doing.

That all changed when he met David. David coming into his life was by pure accident.

Ian was out with some friends, after passing his midterms he just wanted to go out and have fun, dance, drink some beer. Just relax after a job well done. He wasn't even looking to get laid but he somehow ended up in a gay club, mostly because two of his friends were also gay and most of the time, that was the only type of club they went to. Couple of hours later they parted their ways and Ian was walking towards the subway when he noticed four guys following him. They started whistling after him, but he just ignored it and hung his head low. He didn't think much of it until one of them started laughing out loud saying something about tonight being a good night for teaching a fag a lesson about good behavior. Ian's heart sank to his shoes.

Growing up in Southside Chicago he had his share of witnessing guys of his orientation being beaten to beyond recognition but the last place he thought he'd see it happen again was New York. Bigots do not choose a place, Ian thought to himself. His life flashed before his eyes and the images of his siblings smiling, goofing around in their backyard swimming pool the last time he visited them before going back to college popped in his head while he awaited for the inevitable.

But the inevitable never came. Just as he turned to an abandoned alley and started running from the four, he heard muffled sounds of shuffling behind him and one guy yelling and cursing at them. It was obvious he knew them because after their brief altercation the four guys turned away and started walking the opposite way. Ian was left standing leaned against the old building breathing heavily, feeling his heart beating in his ears. Peeking from his place out to the street he made sure the guys left before closing his eyes in relief, exhaling loud and sliding down the wall.

Couple of breaths after, he looked up and was faced with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen on a guy. David was a truly beautiful man. Probably the most beautiful Ian had ever seen. His hair was shoulder length, curly blond with two thin dreadlocks on the back of his head. It had something to do with his sister's husband (a Jamaican guy who came to New York as an exchange student and stayed after getting a job in one of New York's many advertising companies and then meeting his sister and falling in love with her like crazy) being sick with cancer so while he was going through his treatment David and all of his friends showed support by making one dread on the back of their head. Ian thought it was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen.

They began dating after couple of brief phone calls and soon they moved in together into an apartment David's grandma left him in her will. They waited for a whole month before having sex and when it happened it was nothing short of a magic. David was an amazing kisser, his lips were soft and no matter what he ate or whether he brushed his teeth or not, they always tasted sweet. It was the first time Ian truly enjoyed kissing another person. David worked out a lot, his body was good enough to be on a billboard and Ian used to tease him about secretly sending his photos to a modeling agency because the man was built like one of those greek statues.

There was that one time Ian was coming out of the shower and saw David standing naked in front of their living room window looking down on the city and if there was ever a perfect moment in his entire life it had to be when David turned to face him and offered him the widest, most sincere smile Ian had ever been given.

It didn't last long though. Much like every good thing in Ian's life, to be honest.

David's brother in law died and they went to Jamaica for his funeral. Three days later, after not hearing from David at all, Ian had received a Dear John text saying he wasn't coming back. Just those five words. _I am not coming back_.

It made a huge impact on Ian. He was crushed and hurt and angry. Mostly at himself for letting himself trust someone who wasn't family. It was something he promised himself to never do but the love he felt for David overpowered every ounce of reason that was once in him. From that moment on he swore to try his best and never get attached to anyone, no matter how much he wanted to.

But it all came crashing down when he met Mickey. Because Mickey was the first person since David he felt drawn to, he was the first person Ian wanted to step over his promise for.

***

Kissing Mickey is an amazing feeling. His lips are so soft and sweet, the way his tongue licks over Ian's bottom lip drives Ian insane. Ian's hands grip at Mickey's waist trying to pull him closer, flush to his body. The kiss is passionate, their tongues are melting together and Ian thinks Mickey's moans are the best sound he had ever heard. And when Mickey grinds against him, there's nothing that could stop Ian from moaning himself.

'Jesus,...' he breaths out when Mickey bites the soft skin behind his ear. Mickey pushes his leg in between Ian's and Ian spreads them apart welcoming him, arches off the wall when Mickey presses his thigh against Ian's growing erection. The feeling is absolutely amazing and this is what he's been longing for ever since that day he came to return Mickey's wallet and saw him surrounded by the cloud of smoke among all those paintings in Mickey's attic.

Mickey is already rock hard, Ian can feel the bulge in his pants against his hip and his hands immediately slide down to cup Mickey's ass and give it a hard squeeze.

'Fuck...' Mickey closes his eyes shut and gasps against Ian's neck, hot breath making Ian dizzy with pleasure. They grind like that against each other for few brief moments moaning, but Mickey then puts his hands on Ian's ass and stops him from moving.

'Christ, you gonna make me come,' he whispers against Ian's shoulder, 'hold still a sec...'. Ian breathes hotly in his ear and his hands leave Mickey's ass to go further up, stopping on the small of his back under his shirt. Jesus, Mickey has the softest skin, and Ian must fight the urge to place soft kisses against Mickey's back right there and then. Because as much as he wants this to be happening, he doesn't want it this way.

'Hey...' he says and pushes Mickey off of him slowly, 'stop, slow down...'. He doesn't miss the look of wonder mixed with what he believes is disappointment on Mickey's face. But then Mickey, realizing what had just happened, backs off embarrassed and confused. Fuck, what has he done? He must be a damn fool, jumping at Ian like that. What the fuck was he thinking, that he could just come up to him and say _hey , here's an idea, how about you fuck me and I blow you and we call it a night and go the fuck home?_ Jesus.

'Shit,' he says and runs his hands over his face,' Fuck, I'm sorry, didn't mean to, I was just-'

'Hey, it's okay,' Ian hurries to explain.' Don't apologize, I want this. Jesus, I've wanted this in forever, 's just...' he leans back and lets out a breath.'I don't want it like this, y'know?'

Mickey's definitely confused now, Ian says he wants it, but he doesn't want it like this? What does that even mean? So he asks 'Like what?'.

'Like this, like in here, like in the middle of the fucking kitchen,' Ian explains. 'I want you on my bed, I want to enjoy you without worrying that someone might come in on us.'

'Oh,' Mickey says. 'But you do want it?' he asks nervously.

'Fuck yes, I wanted it since I saw you up there in that attic.'

Mickey nods, steps back and straightens his shirt from where it was rustled by Ian's strong hands. He runs a hand through his hair and exhales. Ian is still looking a little shaken, his boner still showing and he's leaning against the door with his hands behind his head. His hair is ruffled from their making out and damn if the man in front of him doesn't look all kinds of beautiful.

'Ok, now what?' Mickey asks while fishing for his cigarettes inside his jeans pocket. 'We go to your place?' he lights a cigarette and leans back on the kitchen sink. He knows he's not suppose to smoke in here but damned if he'll go outside until he deals with this whole situation. Ian is looking at him with his puppy eyes and Mickey doesn't think he'd seen a man this innocent and pure.

'I was thinking maybe we could... um... go out? Like on a date?' Ian says, voice close to a whisper.

'A date?' Mickey furrows his eyebrows in confusion. 'Jesus, we've been going out for quite some time. I don't need to get to know you better, I know everything there is to know about you, Gallagher', Mickey laughs but pulls on a serious face when he sees Ian lower his head in embarrassement. 'Jesus, what now?' he sighs.

Ian is fidgeting with the hem of his shirt still looking down at the tiled floor. He shrugs, 'I know that,' he looks back up at Mickey who is adjusting himself through his pants, cigarette lingering from his lips.'s just -'

'Look,' Mickey takes a quick drag and exhales only a second later. 'I get this must be confusing as shit and believe me, I'm still trying to grasp what just happened. And if you wanna ask me things I'll be willing to answer them for you. But for fuck's sake don't make me go out and sit across from you at some fucking diner, watch you eat and go on and on about the stupidest thing , when all I really want to think about how much I wanna fuck you,' he throws the bud into the sink then slowly comes closer to Ian and pulls at his waistband. 'You have no fucking idea how hot you are', he props himself up on his toes and licks the shell of Ian's ear. The way the redhead shivers doesn't escape him and he smirks against Ian's neck.

'Fuck...' Ian moans and grips at Mickey's waist, pulls him a bit closer.

'The way you turn me on, it's fucking embarrassing is what it is,' Mickey pops open the button on Ian's jeans and grazes the taut stomach with the back of his hand. Ian's head hits the door and he slumps against it.

'Mickey, christ, you're killing me here...' he looks down at where Mickey's hands are slowly making their way into Ian's boxers. Ian's hands are shaking from where they are still tightly against Mickey's hips. He can't remember for the love of him when was the last time he was this nervous about fucking a guy. He closes his eyes and groans when he feels the tip of Mickey's fingers brush the head of his cock.

'Oh god...Mickey...' Ian gasps quietly, presses their foreheads together. With another gasp he cups Mickey's face and bites at Mickey's jaw. That elicits a moan from the brunet and he reciprocates without thinking. When he pulls Ian's lower lip between his teeth and his right hand slips into Ian's boxers, Ian bucks into Mickey's grasp and breathes out Mickey's name.

'Say my name again,' the brunet orders, slowly stroking Ian with his right hand while his left is lingering gently on Ian's hip, his thumb caressing the gentle skin there.

'Mickey...', Ian repeats, his voice hoarse.

'I like the way you moan my name,' Mickey brushes Ian's cheek with the tip of his nose, loving how the redhead lets out a shaky breath and then his lips inch closer to Ian's, his tongue teasing Ian's mouth. He licks at them playfully and when Ian moves forward to capture that delicious sweet tasting tongue with his teeth, Mickey pulls back, but his hands remain where they were. But then Ian cups his ass and pulls him in roughly.

'Make me do it louder then,' he challenges with a raise of his eyebrow and that is enough for Mickey to get down on his knees, open the rest of the buttons on Ian's jeans (goddamnit why do they make jeans with so many buttons?!), an lowers them down to Ian's ankles, letting out a shaky breath when Ian's cock springs free. He stops once he's eye level with Ian's thick, long beauty. Because damn, Ian does have big hands (another thing that might come in handy once Mickey has him in a room all for himself for the entire night) and by all that Mickey knew, well presumed definitely, that Ian is big.

However, he never knew he was like, really big. Which is yet another check mark Mickey's putting into a tiny box next to Ian's name.

Mickey never liked sucking guys off, if he's being honest. The thought of salty slick stick hitting the back of his throat made him shiver, and not in a good way. Besides, if it didn't get him off, why would he even think about doing it, right? If guys have a problem with that, then they can go fuck themselves. And Mickey'd find someone else to fuck him. Problem solved.

Which is why he doesn't understand what it is about Ian that has him on his knees, puling down the guy's pants and his mouth watering at the sight. He stares at Ian's shaft because he doesn't have a lot of experience when it comes to blowing guys and he wanted this for so fucking long that the last thing he wants to do now is make an ass out of himself (even though it wouldn't be such a good thing because Ian is definitely into asses) and give the guy the worst and sloppiest blowjob of his life. Because he's sure Ian had guys blow him like they were born to do it, hell, Ian used to tell him about this one guy that had a mouth like a Grand Canyon and Ian's nine inches (Mickey's pretty sure it's that big) were a piece of cake for him.

But Mickey shakes that thought right away because thinking about someone else doing things to Ian is making him feel jealous as hell. So without much thinking, he closes his eyes and just goes for it. He sticks his tongue out and swirls it around the tip of Ian's cock.

The precome has already gathered there which is definitely a good thing, because that means Mickey did something right to make Ian this aroused. He takes that as an encouragement to go on and grabs the base while his teeth graze along the downside of the delicious member.

Above him, Ian is a panting, mumbling mess and Mickey smirks at the sight of him. He knows he's doing things right when Ian lets out a loud moan just as Mickey takes him in to the hilt. It's making Mickey's cock twitch in his jeans so he moves his left hand away from Ian's hip and unzips him self, pulls his own dick out and gives it a few fast hard strokes, needing to release the tension even for a tiny bit. He glances up, sees Ian looking down at him, Ian's green lusty eyes bored deeply in Mickey's blue ones. Mickey gives the head of Ian's delicious cock couple of slow licks before he sucks him all the way in.

Ian's hand immediately end up on Mickey's head and he grips the soft black hairs tight, groaning a litany of _fuck, fuck, fuck_... Mickey smirks around Ian, loving the sounds coming from above him. He releases his hand from Ian's cock, using now only his mouth to suck the redhead harder. His hands trail up Ian's thighs up to his ass and he squeezes and then spreads the cheeks, pulling Ian deeper into his mouth. He feels the head of Ian's cock hit the back of his throat and loves the thing it does to Ian. Ian is looking down at Mickey with hooded eyes, panting, licking his lips. The sight might be just a little to much for him because if Mickey continues deepthroating him like that, Ian won't last more than two minutes.

Ian pulls at Mickey's hair hard, making him stop moving. He stills his hips after the brunet tries to pull him in by his ass, and takes a moment to appreciate the sight. Mickey on his knees in front of him, with lips swollen and beautifully wrapped around Ian's cock, his eyes dark with desire and want. If Ian didn't think he was in love with this man before, now would be a good moment to fall in love with him again. The thought arouses him even more and he feels the need to say something, to let Mickey know how he feels, what Mickey is doing to him.

'Fuck, you look beautiful...' he whispers between moans. Because just because Mickey's head is still, doesn't mean his tongue is. The head of Ian's cock is in his mouth and his tongue swirls around it and he watches Ian watching him with parted lips and heavy eyes, and Jesus Christ, he loves him. He fucking loves him and that's that. No bullshitting, no pretending Ian is just someone he wants to fuck and get it over with. For the first time in his miserable life he actually loves someone. The realization makes him close his eyes because he doesn't want Ian to see it in them.

To see the weakness, the need to belong, to be loved by someone, to have all those cheesy ass moments like movie dates, and sharing french fries at McDonald's, going fucking skating and kissing under the moonlight. And just because he's on his knees at the moment with Ian's cock in his mouth doesn't mean Ian wants all that. Who the fuck would want all that with Mickey? No one in their right mind , that's who.

So he's gonna give Ian whatever he wants if that could keep him around for even a little while longer.

Ian's grip on his hair tightens when Mickey tries to move his head forward , wanting to take Ian back in, and he's holding Mickey's head still.

'Fucking amazing you are...' Ian says, 'just look at your pretty mouth full of my cock,' he thrusts up into Mickey's mouth. 'Fucking beautiful... oh god, shit, shit...' he pants as he thrusts in harder and faster, holding Mickey's head still. Mickey moves his hands from Ian's ass up inside his shirt and pinches his nipples when Ian thrusts in particularly hard. Ian yelps and looks down with apologetic eyes at Mickey's flushed face.

'Sorry, sorry...' he mutters. His grip on Mickey's hair loosens and Mickey uses the slip up to start bobbing his head again,  faster, sucking Ian's cock all the way in, his thumbs circling around Ian's nipples. Ian's breathing speeds up and Mickey can feel he's close.

'Oh fuck, fuck... don't stop, don't stop, don't...' Ian is rambling above him. Hell, Mickey couldn't stop even if he wanted to. Because Ian is the best thing Mickey ever tasted and he wants to give him everything. So his hands leave Ian's torso and pull his ass cheeks apart, and when Mickey presses one finger against Ian's hole and hollows his cheeks around Ian's cock, it only takes few more thrusts and then Ian is coming down his throat hard and loud.

His hips stutter as Mickey keeps milking everything out of him. When he's done shaking, he looks down at Mickey, who has now let go of Ian's spent cock and is licking the corner of his lips clean from Ian's come.

'Jesus fuck...' Ian breathes, ' Come up, come up...' he pulls Mickey up by his shoulders. 'Fucking amazing is what you are, y'know that?' he cups Mickey's face and presses their foreheads together. 'Fucking amazing,' he whispers against Mickey's mouth before kissing him hard.

Mickey moans as he bucks into him, his naked cock rubbing against Ian's thigh. He lets out a surprised groan when Ian spins them around and pressing Mickey hard against the door, instantly dropping to his knees and taking him all in and Mickey is fucking embarrassed with how quickly he comes. He holds Ian's head still through his orgasm while the redhead licks him clean.

They clean themselves up, straighten their clothes. Mickey lights up a cigarette while Ian zips up his jeans, his eyes lingering on Mickey.

'What?' Mickey asks.

'So, gay, huh?' Ian smirks and steals the smoke from Mickey's hands. He takes a drag and yelps when Mickey hits him in the shoulder. He rubs the sore spot and gives the cigarette back to Mickey. 'The fuck was that for?'

'For being a fucking dick.' Mickey says puffing the smoke.

'Fuck you.' Ian laughs and reaches for the cigarette.

'Could we make that the other way around?' Mickey smirks and raises an eyebrow. He smirks at Ian's stunned expression.

'We could, if you play your cards right.' Ian shrugs. Mickey smiles and puffs out the last cloud of smoke before going to the sink, wetting the butt under the faucet and throwing it into the trash can. He walks over to the door where Ian is leaning and gently grabs his waist. Ian mirrors him and places one hand on Mickey's waist while the other cups his face. He leans forward and plants a gentle peck on Mickey's cheek. Mickey leans into it and nuzzles Ian's neck, trailing soft kisses up Ian's jaw.

'So now what do we do?' he whispers against Ian's mouth. 'Still wanna go on that date?' Ian lets out a shaky breath.

'No,' he says. 'I wanna take you to my place and do stuff to you.' He opens his eyes and looks at Mickey. 'Would that be okay?' Mickey reaches behind him and grabs the doorknob. He turns it and the door opens, the fresh air immediately filling up the kitchen. He inhales and closes his eyes, leaning in for a deep kiss. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't answer. He lets his kisses tell Ian everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Come bother me: one-toomany.tumblr.com


End file.
